#yes of course they had to be there too somehow ^^

[mephisto-reporting]

You Don't Have to... For Me

About: You step out of your comfort zone to share special moments with him. He sees right through your act. How will he respond? Pairing: Female Reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb (Seperate) Note: Reader and the men are NOT in a relationship but there is implied mutual interest. Trigger warnings: Fears, insecurities, mild panic, mild food aversion, sensory discomfort

Author’s Note: Hey! Some of the discomforts and fears in these stories might not apply to you personally — I chose them based on what each LI seems to enjoy and what the reader might quietly endure just to spend time with them. This concept was inspired by a conversation with my dear friend and chaos enabler, Ivy ( @xaviersknight )

If you enjoy my writing and want to support me, you can buy me a Ko-fi! ☕

SYLUS

There’s a boxing ring in his penthouse.

Of course, there is.

It shouldn’t surprise you—nothing about Sylus ever plays by anyone else’s rules. He doesn’t live, he orchestrates. Even the things that should feel raw and violent, like boxing, feel too elegant when he’s involved.  Of course, he had a private ring, glinting under moody downlights like something out of a crime drama. Polished floors. Blood-red ropes. A small stack of gloves in varying sizes, already laid out for you. The floors smell faintly of clean sweat and expensive disinfectant.

You're underdressed for this, somehow. Even though he told you to wear something comfortable, even though you showed up in sleek workout leggings and a cropped tee, even though you tied your hair back the way you always do when you mean business—none of it feels right under his gaze.

“Welcome to my little playground…” Sylus speaks from across the ring.

He’s already inside it, lounging lazily against the ropes like a king waiting to be amused. Black tank top, gloves hanging loose from his fingertips, a thin sheen of sweat already glinting across his collarbone. He looks carved from obsidian and marble, every inch of him dangerous and divine.

You swallow. Smile.

“It’s not so little,” you reply.

“Oh? Planning to flatter me into going easy on you, kitten?”

There it is—kitten. The word slides off his tongue. You offer a half-laugh, stepping forward like it’s all a game. But inside, your stomach twists. Tight. Unrelenting.

You don’t like boxing.

It’s too much. Too close. Too exposed. Every movement is a risk. Every breath, a beat away from being cornered. It’s not just the physicality of it—it’s what it forces out of you. Anger. Instinct. Too close. Too loud. Too... visceral. You liked knowing where your limbs were. You liked boundaries and clear lines and space to breathe.

But Sylus was unpredictable. Impossible to read. A storm of velvet and barbed wire. And once, just once, you’d heard him say: “Boring things don’t interest me.”

He hadn’t said it to you. But it stuck. And it doesn’t take much for the mind to twist things.

Boring people don’t interest him, either.

And the thought had stuck in your ribs ever since — echoing in your bones every time he teased you, called you “kitten” or “sweetie” like it was second nature. You didn’t want to be boring to him. You didn’t want him to lose interest. So you said yes.

Of course you said yes.

He tossed a pair of gloves toward you — you caught them, barely.

“You’ll need help with the wraps,” he said, walking over before you could protest.

He took your hands gently, like you were a glass weapon. Thumb brushing your palm. The silk of his touch was deceptive — soft, delicate — but you could feel the power beneath it. Coiled control. Calculated intimacy. Like he knew exactly what strings he was tugging.

“You nervous?” he murmured without looking up.

“No,” you lied. “Why would I be? This is just practice... right?”

You step into the ring.

He doesn’t rush you. Just watches.

You’ve seen him like this before—when he’s stalking someone through a deal, or when he’s circling the truth in a conversation. It’s not hunger. It’s focus. He’s studying you, already inside your head.

“I thought we’d start with light sparring,” he says. “No pressure. Just a dance.”

You force your lips into a smile, ignoring the cold sweat trickling down your spine. “Just don’t break my nose.”

“I’d never mar you, sweetie...” His eyes crinkle, playful. “Unless you ask me nicely.” He was joking, of course. Sylus never hurt you despite his reputation.

He moves first. Not striking. Just circling.

Testing.

You follow. Clumsy. Too stiff.

“Relax,” he says, not unkindly. “This isn’t a war. Not yet.”

You take a breath.

Try again.

The first time he taps your shoulder with a jab, you flinch. He sees it. Of course he does. You don’t have to look to know he’s watching your reactions more than your form.

“Something wrong, sweetie?”

“No.” You lie so fast it burns your throat.

He jabs again—light, teasing. You respond with a wild swing. Miss entirely. He tilts his head, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“Getting bold, aren’t we?”

Your chest tightens. You can’t read him. You don’t know if he’s impressed or amused or—

Disappointed.

That’s the word that hurts most.

You move too hard next time. Overcorrect. You nearly trip over your own foot as your glove grazes his chest and he catches you—arms snapping around your waist, steadying you like it’s nothing.

Your face is close to his. Too close. His breath is warm against your cheek. He smells like clean sweat and spiced cologne. He doesn’t let go right away.

You look up, startled.

He’s staring at you again. But something’s different.

Less amusement. More... calculation.

And then, softness.

“Why are you hesitating?” he asks. Quiet. Not a whisper, but close.

You blink. “I’m not.”

His brow arches.

You try again. “I just... I’m not good at this.”

“I noticed.”

You flinch.

But his voice is gentle now. Not mocking. Not amused. Just... honest.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t explain the heat rising in your chest. The way your gloves suddenly felt too heavy. The sweat gathering at your lower back. The eyes on you — his eyes — making it impossible to breathe.

It wasn’t the fight. It was the nearness. The intimacy of it. The way his presence filled the ring like smoke, clinging to your skin and thoughts alike.

You stepped back, then again. The ropes pressed against your spine.

His gaze followed you — not taunting. Not cruel. Just watchful.

“You don’t like this....” he said quietly.

You stiffened. “It’s fine.”

“No, sweetie.” He took a step forward. “You’re not fine.”

You looked down, fingers curling into the gloves. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Silence stretched.

“I heard you say once,” you added, voice quieter now, “that boring things don’t interest you. I just… I didn’t want to be that.”

There’s a pause. A shift.

Then, a laugh.

“Is that what this is about?”

You don’t answer.

His hand rises, gloved, brushing lightly beneath your chin until you meet his gaze.

“Oh, sweetie...” he sighs, and it’s the softest thing you’ve ever heard from him. “You think I invited you here to impress me?”

You nod. Barely.

He exhales, the sound tinged with remorse.

“I invited you here because I like watching you try,” he says, lips curving into a gentle smile. “You could throw cotton balls at me, and I’d still find it riveting.”

You blink fast.

He leans in, voice barely audible. “If I wanted perfect form, I’d spar with one of my... business associates. If I wanted dull, I’d drink alone. But you... you make things interesting just by showing up.”

You feel the tears prick your lashes before you can stop them.

His hand—still gloved—cups your cheek gently. The rough texture of the leather is at odds with the tenderness in his touch.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me, sweetie,” he murmurs. “Just be here. That’s enough.”

You nod. It’s all you can manage.

“Besides,” he adds, voice lighter now, “your form is atrocious. But your pout is lethal.”

You laugh—shaky, but real. He grins, triumphant.

“There she is..." he whispers.

You don’t spar again that night. Instead, you both sit in the ring, backs against the ropes, gloves off, drinks in hand brought up by someone who clearly knows better than to ask questions. Sylus lounges beside you, knee brushing yours, casual in a way that still buzzes under your skin.

He talks, and he listens, and he teases, and he lets you unravel yourself in pieces—not all at once, but enough to make you feel seen. Safe.

And when you leave, hours later, he walks you to the door and leans against the frame, arms crossed, lips curved.

“Next time,” he says, “we’ll do something that scares me.”

You raise a brow. “Does anything scare you?”

“Just one thing,” he replies, eyes holding yours.

You want to ask what.

“But that’s a discussion for another time.” He taps your forehead, leading you to his car. his hand, extended, waited for yours without force, without pressure.

Just... waiting.

And when you placed yours in his, he didn’t let go.

CALEB

You could hear his grin through the message.

Got us two VIP passes to the Amusement Park’s Firelight Festival tonight. :p Rides, food, fireworks… and a parade with glowing dragons, just like the old stories you love. ;)

And then, like it wasn’t a big deal, like it wasn’t making your stomach twist in a dozen knots .

 Come ready to fly,.

You smiled when you read it.

You really did. He remembered that you liked parades and fireworks. You’d told him when you hung out with him once.

And then immediately set your phone down and groaned into your pillow.

Rides. He said rides.

He didn’t know. You never told him. It was embarrassing. Heights just... did something to you. The tilt of the world. The way it all dropped away beneath you like gravity forgot how to love you. That sick feeling in your stomach, the one that clung like static even hours after you were back on solid ground.

You liked fireworks. Parades. Candy stalls and fuzzy prizes you’d never win.

But coasters? Loops? Platforms you could see through?

Nope.

And yet, here you were — standing at the entrance of the park’s glowing gates. breath caught somewhere between your throat and your heart, watching him wave at you from across the crowd.

Caleb was all light. All warmth. That stupidly charming smile that could’ve powered the whole island. He was in his casual clothes – Sleeveless white shirt, baggy jeans and shades and his dark hair was a little tousled like he’d run here.

“Hey!” he beamed, trotting toward you. “Look at you. You showed up. Thought I’d have to fly over and drag you in myself.”

You laughed — or tried to. “Would’ve been easier if you had.”

“Oh? You saying you wanted me to sweep you off your feet?” He winked, already walking backward toward the gates, tugging you by the wrist. “Next time just say the word and I will come pick you up from your doorstep.”

He had the same boyish grin as always. Same lopsided energy. But beneath the laughter, there was something tight about him. Focused. Like he was trying to be carefree — like he was carrying something heavier than he let on.

You squeezed his hand. He looked at you, surprised. Then softened.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you lied. “You?”

“Always,” he said, but didn’t let go. “And even more so now that you are here.”

The park was a living constellation. Lights danced in every direction — strung along towers, wrapped around trees, woven into the very air like stardust. People bustled by with caramel popcorn and glowing necklaces. Children squealed. Music floated from every corner.

And high above it all, looming like metal beasts with neon eyes, were the rides.

You avoided looking at them.

Caleb was thrilled. He practically vibrated next to you, pointing out different ones, telling stories, dropping trivia. “That one,” he said, eyes sparkling as he pointed at a monstrous looped coaster. “It was inspired by the early zero-G training modules for astronauts. Goes up to 3Gs on the final drop. Wanna try it?”

You smiled too fast. Too wide. “Sure.”

With VIP passes, the wait time was almost non-existent.

You stared up at the metal track. It twisted into the clouds, lights flashing like a heartbeat. Every scream that echoed down from the peak made your stomach twist tighter. You tried to breathe.

Caleb was rambling about pilot protocols and how G-force affected vision, and you were nodding, smiling, trying to look normal.

But the closer you got, the worse it felt.

Your hands shook when you buckled in.

Caleb noticed. “You cold?”

You shook your head too fast. “I’m fine.”

The harness clicked into place. The floor dropped out from beneath your feet.

And then — the ascent.

The world shrank beneath you. Each click of the coaster’s gears echoed like a countdown.

You felt him look at you.

“…Hey?”

You didn’t respond.

You couldn’t.

Your hands were white-knuckled fists. Your eyes were squeezed shut. Breathing shallow. Chest tight.

“…Hey.”

His voice was gentler now.

“Hey. Look at me.”

You did.

He was watching you. Really watching you — not with teasing, not with that easy charm. With concern. With care.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked softly, the lightest tremble in his voice.

“I didn’t want to ruin this evening…” you whispered, ashamed.

The ride lurched — nearly at the peak now. A second more and it would drop.

The wind screamed as the peak crested.

He reached over — twisted in his seat, even with the restraints — and grabbed your hand with his left. “Close your eyes. I’ve got you.”

It was warm. Heavy.

But steady.

“Hold on to me,” he said, voice low. “Don’t look down. Don’t think about anything else. Just me.”

And then — the fall.

You screamed.

Not just out of fear but because it was everything all at once. The terror. The relief. The way Caleb held your hand the entire time, grounding you when the sky fell away.

When the ride slowed, your breathing did too.

You didn’t let go.

He didn’t ask you to.

Later, you sat on the grass, away from the lights, a bag of half-eaten cotton candy between you. The fireworks were a long way from happening and there was time to kill.

Caleb leaned back on one hand, the other tucked around your shoulder.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“For what?”

“We’ve been here for a while now because I did something stupid. I ruined the evening for you... You were so excited.”

“I didn’t bring you up here to make you uncomfortable.” he said finally. Soft. Almost guilty.

You winced. “You didn’t. I just…”

“You hate heights.”

He gave a sheepish little smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You think I dragged you out here for the rollercoasters?”

You glanced at him.

“I did it for the fireworks. For the stupid nebula cotton candy. For the look on your face when the parade started. For you. Not the rides.”

You looked down. “I just didn’t want to seem—”

“I don’t need you to be fearless,” he said. “I just need you to be you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

You swallowed hard.

He tugged you in closer. “I’m serious. If you’re scared, if you’re upset, if you hate rollercoasters — I want to know. I want to know you. Not some version of you that’s trying to be what you think I want.”

You looked up at him, eyes stinging a little.

“I do like the parade though,” you whispered.

He smiled , soft and golden, all heart. “Good. Because I booked the best spot for it.”

You tilted your head. “How?”

“I’m a Colonel in the Farspace Fleet,” he said with a wink. “Perks of the uniform.”

You laughed. The sound felt free now.

He watched you with a look you couldn’t name. Something warm. Something more.

Then he said, softly, “Thanks for trusting me.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Thanks for holding my hand.”

He skipped the thrill rides without hesitation, instead loading your arms with candy and glowsticks and ridiculous souvenirs. You sat together on a private bench as the parade passed by, a blur of shimmering lights and music. When the fireworks finally exploded overhead in bursts of gold and violet, he leaned just a bit closer.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he said, his voice low and almost reverent beneath the sky’s celebration. “Even if the rides were a bust.”

“I’d go anywhere with you, Caleb,” you said.

And this time, it wasn’t a lie.

ZAYNE

You stand in front of the mirror, tilting your head as you assess your outfit for the third time. Casual. Put-together—but not trying too hard. The denim jacket is a little snug across your shoulders, the black tee just low-cut enough to count as flirty if Zayne noticed such things. He always seems so calm, so unfazed. And yet, every time he looks at you, your stomach flips like a coin midair.

You check your phone. Zayne.

I’ll pick you up in ten. Wear something comfortable.

Comfortable? That’s rich, considering what he’s roped you into.

Pool.

You had smiled like it was nothing when he’d brought it up over coffee earlier this week, his fingers casually tapping the rim of his mug, eyes steady on yours. “There’s this place I used to go to when I first joined Akso. It’s quiet. Good for unwinding. Would you want to join me? I can teach if you’d like.”

And you, ever the glutton for punishment, had said yes.

You’ve never played pool in your life. Something about the geometry, the angles, the calculated strength of the strike… none of it sounded appealing to you. Your hand-eye coordination is barely enough for catching projectiles thrown at you. But it’s Zayne. Calm, composed, frustratingly attractive Zayne. And he invited you. That has to mean something.

The pool hall is tucked between a laundromat and a late-night ramen bar. A few patrons linger at other tables, but Zayne seems to know the owner, and within minutes, he’s leading you to a far table in the corner, away from the noise.

He’s already in his element, chalking his cue. “We’ll start with the basics,” he says, offering you a stick. “Grip. Posture. Precision. Pool’s all about intention.”

You take the cue stick and try to mirror him. You can already feel the weight of the evening pressing at the back of your neck like an invisible hand.

The first round is a disaster.

Your fingers curled around the smooth wood, already clammy. You lined up awkwardly, bent forward, and—

Crack.

The cue ball wobbled. It barely tapped the triangle of colored balls, scattering them half-heartedly.

"Solid attempt," Zayne said, not unkindly, but with a teasing tilt to his voice. “You aimed with your heart, not your eyes.”

You told yourself to relax. He didn’t expect you to be great. He wasn’t like that.

Was he?

Zayne moved with confidence, sinking two shots in a row. His posture was perfect, movements fluid. When he lined up his next shot, he looked back at you briefly, one brow raised as if to say, You watching? You nodded, smiled. Pretended to be fascinated by the game instead of calculating how many more turns you’d have to humiliate yourself.

Your second shot went worse than the first. Your hand slipped on the bridge, the ball skidded, and you felt your cheeks heat. Zayne came up behind you then, gently placing his hand on your arm to guide your posture.

“Here,” he murmured, breath warm near your ear. “Relax your grip.”

Your fingers froze.

He was so close. His hand so steady. Yours... not.

You nodded. Said nothing. Tried again. Failed again.

The next few rounds were even worse. You miss the cue ball entirely once. Twice. Then you scratch it. You try to laugh, but it comes out thin. Zayne doesn’t scold you, he’s not cruel, but he’s precise, his words clipped with surgical clarity.

You nod. Try again. Fail. Again.

“Your wrist’s too loose.”

“You’re leaning too far. Keep your core stable.”

“Don’t look at the cue, look through the shot.”

With each miss, your shoulders tighten. Your knuckles go white around the stick. You feel the blood drain from your face as a couple nearby chuckles softly. You know it’s not about you, but your skin crawls with embarrassment anyway. You didn’t like people watching you mess up.

Zayne watches, silent for a few beats. Then he speaks, voice lower this time. “You’re holding your breath.”

You hadn’t realized you were.

He places his cue stick down gently and walks toward you, his steps soundless on the hardwood floor. He stops just within reach, but doesn’t touch you.

“You’re not enjoying this.” he says softly.

You froze mid-bend.

“I—” you began, but he raised a hand.

“Don’t lie.”

You straightened slowly, cue stick still in hand. “I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you admitted, voice barely above the background hum of the jukebox. “You’re so good at this. I just wanted to spend time with you.”

The silence between you was soft, not sharp.

“I invited you here because I like spending time with you,” he said. “Not because I needed a pool partner.”

You blinked at him, uncertain.

He continued, voice lower now. “I can be... singularly focused. Too much, sometimes. But I don’t want you pretending to be okay with something just because I picked it.”

Your grip on the cue loosened. “I didn’t want to ruin the evening.”

He tilted his head. “It would ruin it more if you spent it uncomfortable.”

You want to deny it. Laugh it off. But your throat is tight, and your heart feels like it’s pressed against a wall.

“I just—” You force a shrug. “I wanted to spend time with you. That’s all.”

Zayne studies your face. “So you dragged yourself into something you hate just to do that?”

“I don’t hate it,” you mutter. “I just... don’t belong here. Pool isn’t exactly my thing.”

His expression shifts, not amusement, not disappointment. Just something softer. Quieter. The kind of look someone gives when they see through you instead of at you.

“I noticed,” he murmurs. “Your shoulders were locked. You didn’t blink once in thirty seconds.”

You try to smile. “So much for subtlety.”

Zayne chuckles. It’s a quiet sound, rare, but warm. “I’m a doctor,” he says. “Reading body language is half the job.”

There’s a pause. Then he leans forward—not close enough to touch, but close enough that you can smell the faint trace of cologne on his shirt. He lowers his voice. “Next time you want to spend time with me... just say it. You don’t have to contort yourself into something you're not. It wouldn’t feel right if you were uncomfortable the whole time.”

You blink, stunned into silence.

“I don’t want your time if it costs you your ease,” he adds. “That’s not the kind of presence I want to be in your life.”

Your chest aches, not with shame, but something closer to relief. The kind that comes when someone lifts the weight off your shoulders before you even realize how heavy it’s been.

He straightens up and gently takes the cue stick from your hands.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s ditch this and go to that ramen place next door. You can make fun of my spice tolerance there. Does that sound good to you?”

You grin, heart hammering, the tension finally cracking like ice. “Only if you let me steal your gyoza.”

“Negotiable,” he says, brushing past you with the ghost of a smile. “Come. The night is far from over. You don’t have to change who you are around me,” he said, tone calm but sincere. “I’d rather have the truth.”

Your heart thudded, unsteady but warm.

You nodded. “Next time... you’ll be the one out of your element.”

He smirked. “I look forward to it.”

And he meant it.

XAVIER

The elevator hums quietly as you check your reflection for the fifth time.

Comfortable. Cute. Relaxed. That was the goal.

You’d chosen your favorite knit sweater — the one just baggy enough to hang off one shoulder — and paired it with soft leggings, fuzzy socks, and a warm-toned scrunchie pulling your hair back in a loose twist. A look that said, “I didn’t try that hard,” while clearly being planned down to the scent of the vanilla lip balm on your mouth.

Because this wasn’t just dinner.

It was dinner at Xavier’s apartment.

You cradle the two grocery bags in your arms a little tighter, filled with neatly packed slices of marbled beef, a few delicate cuts of lamb, some fresh shitake, enoki, and bok choy, plus the greens. There’s also a small six-pack of fruit-flavored soda you thought he might like — and two mochi ice cream desserts in your bag's chill pouch.

You’d been excited all day.

Xavier’s apartment was what you expected: neat, quiet, lightly decorated in soft colors and odd trinkets he didn’t think twice about but made your eyes linger.

In the center of the living space, a low table had been arranged with two cushions on either side and a full hot pot setup. The induction stove was small but new, clean and white, already buzzing  gently beneath a divided metal pot. Steam curled lazily into the air.

He padded barefoot across the room, sleeves rolled, hair loose and a little ruffled from sleep, and took the bags from your arms wordlessly. When you tried to insist you could help, he simply said, “Sit. You’re the guest.”

And so you sat.

And then he poured the broth packets in. The setup was clean and minimalist, just like him — a pale wood table, small ceramic sauce dishes, dipping bowl sets, and a yin-yang shaped hot pot cooker with two separate sides of broth.

Except this time… both sides were red.

Not a gentle tomato-based red.

Not one side miso, not mushroom.

The liquid turned dark crimson almost instantly.

You blinked.

“Hot Mala. It’s… strong,” he said. He stirred with a lazy rhythm, the aroma already clawing at the back of your throat.

You swallowed hard. Bright crimson oil glistened on the surface, flecked with floating peppercorns and crushed chili. You felt your soul begin to sweat.

“...Both sides?” you asked, feigning a casual glance.

“Spicy’s better,” Xavier said, crouching at the table. “I only bought the twin-pot style because the seller said it was popular.”

Your tongue already tingled at the idea of the red broth. You weren’t just bad with spice — you were barely functioning around a mildly spicy samosa. Anything more, and your eyes would water and your face would burn like a reactor core meltdown.

But you looked at him — quiet, warm, fond in that unreadable way of his as he placed dipping bowls beside the stove.

And you smiled.  You did what you always did with people who mattered more to you than your own comfort.

Because the thought that you might ruin this calm, carefully arranged evening over something like spice tolerance made your chest tighten.

“It looks perfect,” you said.

He sat across from you, cross-legged and relaxed in dark joggers and a white hoodie, a bold choice for hot pot, especially with the red broth.

He leaned over the table with all the grace of a sleepy cat, selecting slices of meat and guiding them into the red broth with long chopsticks.

“You brought good cuts,” he noted, nodding. “I trust your judgment.”

And then, a pause — his eyes narrowed a little at the pile of greens beside him.

“Except… this.”

You laughed softly. “It’s not that bad.”

He gave the vegetables a look that could only be described as betrayal. “It smells like sadness.”

You tried not to laugh. But your heart twisted. Not because of his words.

Because while he bantered the smell of chili oil and peppercorn was already beginning to sting your throat. You reached for your dipping bowl, adding soy sauce, onions, minced garling, lime and sesame paste with trembling fingers, trying to busy yourself.

And when he dropped your favorite mushroom into the red broth, you didn’t protest.

You only smiled.

The first bite singed.

You chewed slowly, nodding like it was fine, like your tongue wasn’t slowly blistering from the inside out. You chased it with soda. Swallowed a second piece — lamb this time — and made a soft sound that you hoped passed for enjoyment but probably sounded more like someone dying of quiet regret.

You blinked the tears back.

He watched you.

You looked down at your bowl.

“Too spicy,” he said, softly.

Your fingers tightened on the chopsticks. “No. It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

You flinched, barely. He was still neutral in tone — not accusatory. Just… certain. Like a man who already knew the sky was blue and didn’t need convincing.

“I didn’t want to ruin it,” you said quietly. “You were excited.”

“I’m always excited to see you,” he said, without a hint of irony. “But I’m not excited to watch you suffer.”

That stilled you.

“I thought you didn’t notice.”

“I notice everything about you.” His chopsticks stilled above the pot. “I just don’t always know what I’m supposed to do with it.”

You laughed despite yourself, hand gripping your drink as you coughed lightly. “Okay. I admit it. I’m bad with spice. But I didn’t want to say anything.”

“Why?”

You hesitated. “Because I… uh… You invited me. I didn’t want to be difficult.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “You’d rather be in pain than tell me the truth?”

You winced. “When you say it like that, it sounds stupid.”

“It is,” he said gently. Then added, “But I’ve done worse.”

Then he shifted.

With a flick of his wrist, he transferred the vegetables — yes, even the sad greens — and a generous portion of meat into a plate. He grabbed the serving ladle and began to scoop the broth from one section of the pot into a bowls.

“I have a mild instant soup base in the kitchen, it's delicious too.” he said, standing up. “Give me five minutes.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do.”

You blinked again, but this time not from spice.

“Why?”

“Because you’re here,” he said simply, walking to the kitchen. “And I like that you’re here.”

Your throat tightened.

The new broth was clear, soft, comforting. The moment he brought it out, you wanted to cry.

Not just from the relief of no longer melting from the inside out.

But because someone had noticed.

Listened.

And changed something just for you.

“You didn’t have to,” you said softly as you ate. “Really.”

“I know.”

And then, as if to demonstrate further solidarity, he reached into the spicy broth, pulled out a bok choy… and stared at it like it was his mortal enemy. Then, with slow determination, he bit into it.

His whole face remained unchanged.

But you saw the twitch.

“…Was it worth it?” you asked.

“No,” he said, deadpan. “But now we’re even.”

Later, when you left, he walked you to the door barefoot, holding the empty mochi container like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Next time,” he said, after a pause, “you pick the broth.”

“Next time?”

He blinked. “If you want.”

You looked up at him.

He stood in the doorway — hoodie sleeves half-pushed, hair still tousled, the faint scent of chili oil clinging to him like a memory. His expression was unreadable again. But the warmth behind it? That wasn’t hard to see at all.

“I’d like that,” you said.

And you were already planning it.

RAFAYEL

You shouldn’t have said yes.

That thought rings in your head as the last rays of evening sunlight melt into amber, stretching across the mirror-glass surface of the lake. Everything is quiet — too quiet — save for the light chirp of insects and the steady ripple of water as Rafayel swims deeper, his silhouette cutting sleek lines through the reflection of the sky.

He’s graceful.

Unfairly so.

Water clings to his skin like it belongs there, catching on his lashes, beading along his shoulders, tracing the lines of muscle down his back and arms as he moves. And you, standing at the shallow edge in your swimsuit, arms folded like a makeshift barrier, feel like a tangled bundle of nerves held together by one wrong decision.

Not the lack of footing. Not the invisible things beneath the surface. Not the way your limbs felt disconnected and sluggish, or how you could never quite get the rhythm of your strokes right without swallowing water or tipping awkwardly sideways like an overfilled tote bag.

You could swim. Technically.

You just… didn’t like it.

It was clumsy. You were clumsy. You’d passed the mandatory swimming exam at school, survived a few hotel pools on holidays ut lakes? Open water? With things brushing against your legs, invisible weeds tangling near your feet, the ground disappearing beneath you with nothing to hold?

It made your skin crawl.

But the way Rafayel’s eyes lit up when he talked about it… You didn’t want to ruin that.

So you came.

You still remember yesterday evening when Rafayel had flashed that impish grin and tossed you with “Wear something cute. I’m kidnapping you for a swimming adventure. No complaints,” — you’d said yes.

Because he was Raf.

And part of you always said yes to him. Hoping, stupidly, that it  might be something worth remembering.

Maybe he’d laugh. Maybe he’d tease. Maybe he’d say something flippant and walk away…

Or maybe — just maybe — he’d notice you like you notice him.

“You’re not gonna melt, cutie,” he calls from a few meters out, resting easily on the surface of the water. He floats with infuriating elegance, his arms outstretched and his purple hair haloed around his head. “Or are you actually made of sugar?”

You snort softly, hugging yourself tighter. “I just… don’t want to ruin the peace. It’s nice just watching.”

“You mean it’s nice watching me.” He grins. “Go ahead. Get your fill. I don’t blame you…”

Your lips twitch despite yourself.

And that was Rafayel in a sentence — smug, sharp-tongued, beautiful enough to get away with it. But underneath the teasing, you knew his invitation wasn’t just about swimming.

He wanted to share something.

And you wanted to be part of that world , his world , even if it made your stomach twist.

So you step in.

Slowly. The water’s cool against your skin, not cold, but shocking in contrast to the warm evening air. You move step by careful step, feeling the soft sand shift beneath your toes, the occasional ripple brushing your calf like phantom fingers.

It’s fine.

You can do this.

You make it chest-deep before you hear his voice again.

“Come closer.”

He’s farther now, maybe eight or nine meters out, treading water with that casual, effortless grace.

You hesitate.

He notices.

There’s a pause — one of those strange suspended silences that exist only between people who know each other too well and not well enough at the same time.

Then you smile. Not because you feel okay, but because you want him to feel okay.

And you swim.

Clumsily. Arms too wide, breath too shallow. You keep your chin above water, trying not to panic, trying not to think about the darkness beneath your feet or the silt that clouds around your knees when you kick.

But then — something brushes you.

A slip of lake weed? A fish? A strand of hair?

It doesn’t matter.

Terror shoots up your spine like ice.

You gasp sharply, flail, and instinct kicks in — wild, desperate kicks, arms slapping water, trying to go anywhere but where you are. You can’t feel the bottom anymore. You can’t find a rhythm. Panic closes your throat like a fist—

And then he’s there.

Strong hands caught you.

You didn’t even realize he’d come until his arms wrapped around your waist, one hand steady at your back, the other curling under your thigh to anchor you as you trembled.

“Hey. Hey,” Rafayel’s voice was lower now. All the teasing had dropped out. “I’ve got you. You’re alright.”

You tried to speak, but your throat burned. Your hands clutched at his shoulders instead, nails digging in. He didn’t flinch.

His face is close. Closer than it’s ever been. Water drips from his lashes, and for once, there’s no smirk, no teasing spark. Just something… protective. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “Breathe. You’re fine.”

And somehow, you do.

He holds you for a moment longer. You feel the strength in him, the calm. The quiet assurance that, at least in this moment, nothing would dare happen to you.

And then you’re moving.

Back toward the shore.

He doesn’t drag. He glides, guiding you like something precious — like you’re worth holding onto.

“I didn’t know,” he said, his voice just above a whisper, “You should’ve told me you didn’t want to swim.”

“I didn’t… I thought I could handle it,” you croaked out, cheeks burning with shame. “I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“Idiot, guppy” he muttered, but there was no venom in it. “You think I brought you here to watch you suffer?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The humiliation was sharp and bitter in your chest, mixing with the leftover panic.

He walked the last few steps, carrying you until the water kissed only your calves. When he set you down, your legs wobbled.

“You could’ve drowned,” he said quietly. “And then what would I do? Swim around this stupid lake yelling at your ghost?” He knew he wouldn’t have let that happen. So did you. But he was making a fair point.

That startled a laugh out of you, hoarse and awkward, but it made him smile.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I just… I didn’t want to say no to you.”

He looked at you, for a long moment. Eyes clearer than usual. “You don’t have to prove anything to me,” he said. “If you want to spend time with me, just say so. You don’t have to drown for it, cutie.”

You blinked. Then frowned. “So what, you’re not gonna make fun of me?”

“Oh no,” he smirked, the old glint back in his eye. “I am absolutely making fun of you. But—” He reached for your towel, flicking it playfully over your head, “…only after I make sure you're not cold, scared, or crying.”

He plopped down beside you on the ground, towel around his shoulders, hair dripping. The lake shimmered behind him, but he didn’t spare it another glance.

He looked only at you. “You’re an idiot,” he says, voice bright with performative scorn. “A pretty, sweet, stubborn idiot.”

You blink.

He reaches out and dries your wet hair with surprisingly gentle fingers using the towel.  Then, with a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, he says, “Next time, you sit on the shore, look pretty, and cheer for me. Deal?”

You open your mouth to protest.

“And,” he adds, lifting a finger, “You’ll bring snacks. Preferably something cold. I’ll get out, pretend to suffer from exertion, and you’ll feed me with loving devotion while telling me how brave I am.”

You laugh. This time, genuinely.

“…Deal.”

He bumped your shoulder with his, light and easy. “That’s my good little guppy.”

And somehow, as the light faded and the stars blinked into view above the treetops — you didn’t feel so out of your depth anymore.

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[starryjake]

idea... reader being insecure about getting head but she has MUNCH HEE as a boyfriend and she ends up being addicted too

🫰🫰🫰🫰well yes.

“please, baby,” heeseung nearly begs.

his hands are rubbing your bare thighs, slowly making their way up and up and up.

he pushes the fabric of your skirt up as he goes, eager to get to what’s laying beneath it.

“i don’t know, hee,” you say.

you’re nervous, although you can’t deny how much just his hands rubbing your thighs are turning you on. you can feel yourself getting wet, an ache starting to from from the need to be touched.

“there’s nothing to be nervous about, i promise,” he tells you assertively. you look into his eyes and know that means it. “i just wanna make you feel good, sweetheart. that’s all i want.”

that was mostly all he wanted. of course he wanted to make you, his sweet girlfriend, feel good. but he also knew he would get a lot of pleasure out of himself.

since the day he started going out with you—hell, from the minute he met you, he wanted to taste you. he wanted to get his head between your legs and give you the head of a lifetime.

“but what if—”

heeseung cuts you off with a delicate kiss. he kisses you slowly, deeply, and it makes you realize even more so how bad you need him.

“you trust me, don’t you?” he whispers.

“yeah,” you answer, meaning it with all your heart.

“can i?” he asks, digging his finger into the waistband of your skirt.

“yes,” you finally tell him.

he practically rips your skirt and underwear off of you, beyond eager to finally get what he’s been dreaming of for months. you were worth it wait, he knew it before even getting a taste.

he lays down on his stomach, glancing up at you with his big doe eyes to ensure that you were okay. you still had that worried expression on your face, but heeseung was set on changing it to a pleasured one.

he kisses your thighs, his lips so soft and light that it tickles. you giggle a little, which in turn, makes him smile, relieved to know that you’re relaxing.

then finally, finally he leans in and licks a long, firm strip up from the bottom of your pussy to your clit. you gasp at the sensation, throwing your head back because suddenly it’s too heavy to hold up.

“oh my god,” you moan, thighs attempting to close around his head.

he pushes them back apart, tilting his head to lean on one as he focuses on eating your pussy. he licks up and down and circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, which has your legs twitching.

“heeseung,” you cry out, reaching down to entangle your fingers in his hair.

“mmm, yeah, baby,” he moans into your cunt. “you taste so good. you’re so wet for me, honey.”

“it feels…” you trail off as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks for a moment, quite literally taking your words away.

“feels what?” he asks.

you couldn’t remember what you were going to say. you couldn’t even think. he was eating you out so good it was making you dumb.

he didn’t mind. he could feel himself going dumb too, lost in how good you taste and how smooth and warm and amazing you feel against his tongue.

“my perfect girl,” he praises, slightly squeezing your thighs. “god, it’s so fucking good.”

all you could do was moan, getting confident enough to spread your legs wider and hump your hips up into his face. somehow, you needed even more, and he would give it to you.

he shifted his hands from your thighs and used his fingers to spread your pussy, then stuffed his face right back into it. the tip of his nose rubbing against your clit while his tongue thrusted in and out of your hole was enough to send you over the edge.

“hee!” you nearly scream. “i’m cumming! fuck, i’m cumming. i’m cumming, i’m—”

again, you couldn’t speak anymore. you were cumming way too hard to do anything but let it wash over you in silence. heeseung kept his head buried between your legs while you did, nursing you through your orgasm.

you yelped when you finally came down, and heeseung regretfully pulled away from your pussy. his lips, chin, and nose were glistening with your cum.

“fuck,” he growled, crawling up the bed to kiss you hard on the lips. “you’re so fucking hot, baby. can’t believe i finally got a taste of you. i don’t think i’m gonna be able to go a day without it now.”

and you had no problem with that. who were you to complain about your boyfriend starting and ending every day with his face between your legs?

[pitchsidestories]

Three weddings and one new love II Patri Guijarro x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 2169

summary: Patri and Reader cross paths at three weddings. Each meeting brings them closer, but is it enough for something real to begin?

author's note: hi, like everyone else, we absolutely loved all the woso weddings and inspiration struck. We hope you enjoy the fanfic that came from it. <3

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

Lola and Cristina’s wedding was in full swing.

“Patri, do you remember her?” Leila’s question was innocent enough, but when the midfielder caught sight of you, she nearly choked on the champagne she’d been sipping.

Of course, Patri remembered. How could she not? But somehow, you were even more beautiful than she’d allowed herself to recall.

Noticing the brunette’s stunned expression, you laughed, light and effervescent, like the bubbles rising in your glass: “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Nice to see you again. It’s been a while.”, Patri said, recovering quickly. The midfielder felt the warmth rising to her cheeks. Normally, she was cooler, more composed. She blamed the heat. And the drinks.

“It’s nice to see you too.”, you replied, a soft smile on your lips.

“Are you enjoying the party so far?”, the Barcelona player asked, her voice casual, but her eyes lingering just a little too long.

“I do. What about you? I really like your dress.”, you said.

The sleeveless black dress hugged her figure effortlessly, the ink of her tattoos accentuating her sun-warmed skin.

Patri tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous smile playing on her lips: “Oh, thank you.” She paused, gesturing vaguely. “And yeah, Lola and Cristina know how to throw a party.”

You took a moment to absorb the atmosphere. Laughter drifted through the garden, and even usually composed Alexia was dancing in her pink dress, barefoot and carefree, with the bride.

“I’m not usually a fan of weddings, but this one’s something special.”, you confessed.

Patri grinned: “That’s a big compliment, then. Can I get you another drink?”

“Oh. Yes, please.”, you responded, returning her smile.

Like a true gentlewoman, she returned with fresh drinks for you both, gently clinking her glass against yours. “Cheers.” “Cheers.”

“It’s really beautiful.”, Patri murmured, her eyes scanning the joyful chaos unfolding around you.

You followed her gaze. The couple radiated happiness, surrounded by friends, laughter and the soft golden light of early evening.

Knowing them as well as you did, especially Lola, the goalkeeper who’d stood by you when everything in your career was falling apart, you felt a quiet swell of emotion. “I agree.”, you said, your voice low.

Patri turned to you, a playful tilt to her head:” Would you like to dance?”

Her brown eyes caught yours, deep and steady, and something warm unfurled in your chest. You hesitated, nerves fluttering at the edges.

“Oh, um… sure,” you nodded, speaking almost to yourself.

As you stepped onto the dance floor, the DJ smoothly shifted from a fast rhythm to a slow, melodic song. You both paused, smiling, a little shy, a little amused, before stepping closer.

Her hand found yours, and the space between you disappeared. The movement was easy, natural, like you’d rehearsed it without knowing. There was no need to speak, your bodies seemed to anticipate each other, flowing in quiet synchrony.

The moment, soft and perfect, was suddenly broken by the arrival of Irene, her expression tight with concern.

You watched as Patri’s eyebrows knotted together, looking over to her teammate.

“Patri? Can you help me find Mateo?”, Irene asked, the slightest hint of panic in her voice.

“I…”, Patri hesitated, looking back and forth between you and Irene until she nodded firmly: “Yeah, sure.”

She offered you an apologetic smile: “Sorry.”

You waved her off casually: “It’s fine. I need to check on Andrea, anyway, looks like she had enough to drink.”

With a final wry smile, Patri disappeared into the crowd. She eventually found Mateo several minutes later, sitting calmly beneath a table, hidden by the tablecloth and happily playing with his toy cars. The relief on Irenes face when she saw her son was immeasurable.

Happy to have been of help, Patri returned to where she left you earlier but you were gone.

“Ale? Do you have y/n’s number?”, she asked Alexia who was seated on a table nearby, sipping white wine.

She raised her eyebrows as she took another sip: “I don’t. Why?”

“I…”, Patri started. But what was she supposed to say? That she couldn’t find you after circling the parameter of the big yard three times already. That she felt something between you two and didn’t understand why you had just left?

Before she could find the right words, Leila chimed in, her eyes lighting up with excitement: “You want to see her again?!”

“Yeah?”, Patri answered carefully.

This caused Alexia shoot her a knowing, slightly pitying look. Patri wished she hadn’t even asked at all.

Summer break meant wedding season in the womens football world, so the next ceremony was only a couple days later. It felt like the celebrations were never-ending. But you weren’t complaining, not when it gave you another excuse to wear something fancy.

You were stuck in some small-talk with two men you didn’t know, and it quickly became clear that they were more interested in each other’s opinions than anything you had to say. You stood there politely, twirling the stem of your champagne flute between your fingers and pretending to listen. At least until a bright red jumpsuit caught your attention.

It was Patri, smiling carefully as she walked towards you.

You smiled back at her, grateful to have an excuse to leave the one-sided conversation: “You again. I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here.”

“Hi, I didn’t know you knew the brides.”, Patri greeted you and as she took in your uncovered arms added: “… or that you had any tattoos.”

You smirked at her, catching the way her gaze lingered on your body: “Wow, you underestimate me, Guijarro.”

“I did. I thought…”, she started, her cheeks turning pink.

“You thought I was just the girl next door? I feel like I should be offended.”, you teased, leaning in with a grin.

Clearing her throat, the midfielder defended herself: “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know.”, you said quickly, hoping to ease her visible nervousness.

Biting her lip, Patri murmured an apology.

“Yours are really pretty.”, you admitted, lightly tracing the inked lines on her upper arm with your finger. Was this still just friendly chatter between guests, or had it already tipped into flirting? You suspected the latter. You couldn’t help it, the banter between you was too good to resist.

Under your attention, she muttered: “Oh, thanks.”

“Although the tiger might be a bit cheesy.”, you added with a wink.

Pretending to be offended, the brunette shot back: “What? No, it’s cool.”

You chuckled: “Uh-huh.”

Then the mood shifted. A memory surfaced, the last wedding where you’d seen her, and how abruptly it had ended. Your voice softened: “Sorry for vanishing like some kind of Cinderella the last time we saw each other.”

“Is that a thing you do?”, Patri asked, her tone cautious. She didn’t want to be hurt again. The feeling of being left behind was still raw, it hadn’t been a few days ago.

You shook your head.: “Vanishing and leaving a pretty girl behind? No, usually not. At least, not on purpose.”

“So, I don’t have to be scared you’ll disappear again?” she questioned, watching you hopefully.

“No, I won’t do that.” You smiled, heart open. “You want me to stay?”

“I do.”, Patri confirmed, her voice barely a whisper. “I even asked the others for your number.”

“You did?”

Here was the thing, you had all played for the national team together. But after you left for England and refused any further call-ups, not much in the Spanish federation had truly changed. Just fragments. Bits and pieces. And there was still so much left to be desired. Which meant, of course, that none of her football friends would have your contact details.

“I can give you mine now,” you offered, pulling a pen from your small bag and scribbling your number on her arm.

“Thanks,” she responded softly.

“You’re welcome. I’m rarely in Spain these days, but I’m here most summers.”, you explained.

Nervously, she glanced at you, her voice quiet as she hinted at the dance you never got to finish last time: “That’s... fine. I just still owe you a dance.”

“You should do that now,” you replied with a smirk, nodding towards the dance floor. “One of my favourite songs is playing.”

Patri shrugged as if this opportunity was as good as any: “Okay, then.”

You took her hand in yours and led her onto the dance floor.

The music surrounded you both as you started to sway. Patri’s hands settled naturally on your waist, guiding your movements with the rhythm of her own body. She moved smoothly, like water. Almost like the way she played football, you thought.

“You’re surprisingly good at this.”, you smirked.

Patri smiled, lifting an eyebrow: “Surprisingly, huh?”

“Yeah, I mean you’re maestro on the field but the dance floor is very far from a pitch.”, you teased, biting your lip.

She tilted her head, considering for a moment and then said with a slightly challenging tone: “Can’t I be both?”

Her face was so close to yours now, the sunlight catching in her deep brown eyes.

“You can be even more than that.”, you murmured, your gaze locked on her.

You knew she stared at your lips. You waited for her to lean in. Maybe she was waiting for you too. The kiss never came.

And then the moment was gone. You had to leave right after this dance, but you had no idea how much chaos your exit would leave behind.

Later that night, with the music still playing and drinks still flowing, a fine sprinkle of rain began to fall over the wedding and Alexia came running towards her friend group, her high heels dangling from her fingers: “Olga! Leila! Patri is crying… and she won’t tell me why!”

They found her outside, sitting on the venue steps, quietly sobbing and mascara smudging underneath her eyes.

Leila crouched down beside her: “What happened?”

“I had her number but it vanished… just like her.”, Patri sniffed, pointing towards the fading writing on her arm that was almost completely washed away by a mix of sweat and rain.

“Aw, cariño…”, Olga sighed, brushing strands of hair out of Patris face.

“It’s okay. I’m sure we can get her number somehow.”, Leila said softly.

“Promise.”, Olga added, squeezing her shoulder.

Patri wiped her eyes and looked up to them. The crying had finally stopped.

The third wedding was Laia’s. Just as beautiful as the last two ceremonies and with a lot of familiar faces on the guest list.

When you walked in, you noticed one table right away.

“Patri. Get up and stop pouting.”, Ona ordered, elbowing her in the ribs.

Patri was seated next to her, frowning into her champagne glass.

“She’s here!”

“Stop messing with me.”, the midfielder muttered, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Unmoved by her teammate’s theatrics, Ona gave a half-smile: “I’m not. She and Laia go way back to their Atlético days. So come on now.”

Patri’s head shot up: “Wait, are you serious?”

With a sigh, Ona grabbed her arm and gently tugged her to her feet. She turned her toward the other side of the courtyard, where you stood talking to the bride, laughing in the golden dusk.

“I am.”, Ona said simply.

Laia’s voice rang out beside you, warm and sure. She rested her arm on your shoulder: “I hope you’ll come visit me in Barcelona soon.”

You smiled, hugging her close: “Of course I will.” The promise was meant for her, but when your eyes flicked past her shoulder and found the one woman you'd seen at the last two weddings, your heart quietly wondered if the promise might stretch to her too.

Beaming, Laia announced: “I’ll go find my husband.”

“Okay.”

Their happiness was contagious, easy, natural. It was beautiful to see someone you’d known so long marry the man who had cried the moment she stepped into view at the ceremony.

You and Laia shared one last hug. Then, as you turned, you almost stumbled straight into Patri.

“Oh, hi.”, you mumbled, nerves fluttering in your chest.

“Hey.”, she replied, calm on the outside, though her heart was pounding. Three weddings. Third time’s the charm, maybe this was the moment, like in all the films and books.

You gestured toward the happy couple: “Laia and I were just talking, I’ve got to visit her in Barcelona soon.”

“Yeah,” Patri said. “It’s great to have her back.”

You nodded. “You lot are lucky.”

“We are.”

You hesitated, searching her face: “What if I want to see you too, not just Laia?”

Her expression lit up, hope blooming across her pretty face: “You want to visit me?”

“Yeah.” You smiled. “I really do.”

“I’d like that.”, Patri answered, and stepped a little closer. She kissed your cheek soft, deliberate, her lips brushing just a little too close to yours.

Three weddings and maybe, this was the first chapter of your own little love story.

[farfromharry]

Summary: Lando’s girlfriend broke her leg and obviously he had to be the first to sign it

lando norris x reader

w/c 963

A broken leg, that was Y/N’s diagnosis. That and being incredibly clumsy. And she had been sulking about it for the better part of a day.

Lando had been scared to overstep. He knew she was upset, her movements for the next 2-3 months were limited, of course she would be upset. But he missed her. Being a boyfriend had taught him a lot about himself and one of those things was that he was extremely clingy when the right person was involved. He just wanted to spend time with her.

He gave it till 2pm the day after they left the hospital before he broke. He needed bribes and a smile and hopefully everything would go to plan.

The man knocked on the bedroom door, getting no response just as expected. “Are you still moping or can I come in?” It was a dangerous game he was playing. Poking the bear. Luckily for him, this bear had a soft spot. That soft spot was named Lando Norris. She was just as gone for him as he was for her. A match made in heaven.

A huff came from beneath the blankets. It made him smile. “Depends. Did you bring ice cream… or chocolate?” Her voice was quiet, like she was being shy about it. He knew her too well though.

“Chocolate ice cream okay?”

She lifted her head like she was checking he was being honest. The man waved the tub where she could see with a spoon in his other hand. For the first time in a full day, she smiled. “You beautiful man, get over here.”

That was his green light. He basically jogged over to the bed, throwing himself in beside her. He offered the ice cream and a kiss, both doing wonders to lighten her mood.

“How you feeling?” He brushed her hair from her face.

She frowned, curling into his side. “Like I can’t go anywhere without burdening someone.” Considering she had never used crutches, everyone agreed it was best to accompany her places in case she stumbled or fell. It was out of love. No one wanted her to hurt herself more than she already had.

Now it was his turn to frown. He couldn’t even begin to tell her how much of a burden she wasn’t. “I will literally carry you everywhere until it’s healed. You’re not allowed to be sad anymore.”

Unfortunately she knew he was being serious. “Lan, you can’t just—“

“Yes, actually, I can.” He raised an arm, pulled up his sleeve and flexed. “I have incredible biceps. It’d be a breeze.” He winked for good measure and she hated how it made her a little flustered.

It all started with his finger tracing shapes on her leg. That was probably where he got the idea from. Then it graduated to him shuffling down the bed, deciding he had to make his mark on her cast.

She didn’t know where he got the pen, probably in one of his many pockets for some random reason. It did take her by surprise though that he was just blindly helping himself. She might not have minded if he had written her a nice message or something. “Did you just sign my cast?” She blinked, blankly.

“Obviously, that’s what you do with casts.”

Her eyes flickered down to the ink now soaking into the plaster. It was there clear as day. The squiggly lines that somehow made up ‘Lando’ with a little 4 beside it. “No, Lando, you literally autographed it.”

He looked down with a furrowed brow, like he hadn’t even realised what he’d done. It was sort of a reflex. When a pen was put in his hand and he was supposed to sign something, that’s exactly what he did. His signature was scrawled mindlessly across the cast because that’s what he was so used to doing. Over the years he’d signed everything from skin to wrappers. Apparently now he even signed his girlfriend.

“Shit.” Any normal person would have felt guilty or even feigned it, but not him. Lando laughed, like, full belly laughed at his mistake. “I’m sorry, baby.”

The woman rolled her eyes. Admittedly she couldn’t help but feel slightly amused herself.

“I’ll fix it.”

“How?”

There was that evil grin on his face again. “You just eat your ice cream. Let me work my magic.”

She didn’t even want to know what he had planned. When it came to Lando sometimes it was better to turn a blind eye and let him do his thing. She sighed, doing as he said. As long as he didn’t draw something phallic like the child he was, she supposed she could get over it.

The man was concentrating hard. Every now and then she would glance at him, find him with his head practically buried in her thigh and his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. It was adorable.

10 minutes must have gone by before he finally announced he was done with his masterpiece. “All done.” He sat back with a proud smile on his face.

When she finally took a look, it was like something a crushing teen might draw in the margin of their high school notebook. Hearts, everywhere, followed by a ‘Lando <3 Y/N.’ It was silly, but it made her smile and that was all he wanted to do. Plus now that he’d dedicated his love to her, at least everyone would know she was his.

“I love it, you’re a real artist.”

He beamed. It would be with her for the next 3 months so he was glad she liked it. He stole a quick kiss and then a bit of ice cream when she wasn’t looking. “Good, ‘cause I love you.”

[kxsagi]

I always pronounce your name as Kissagi because you love Isagi so (Kiss Isagi) 😭

Also every time I see you post about Sae, I have to take a breath to not go feral cause he’s my favorite and it’s bad for my heart 😞

And to all the people thirsting about Sae, I love you all, I relate so hard like you have no clue– He takes up like 30% of my brain at all times (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝) I’ve made 3 playlists (about to be 4) for him and drawn him multiple times, guys help me–

~ 💜 anon

“𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞”

a/n: OMG I PRONOUNCE MY USER AS KISSAGI TOOOO like kiss isagi yessssss mwah mwah 💋💋💋

please don't be shy and share the playlists and drawings 😩 (only if you're comfortable!!)

also, for your kind message, take this sae drabble i had in my drafts ❤️

the rain isn’t heavy, but it’s persistent, enough to soak the hem of your jeans and leave misty streaks on your cheeks. the train station is quieter than usual, the fluorescent lights above humming with an indifferent buzz. you’re standing there like a character in a drama you never asked to star in, arms crossed over your chest, waiting for the person who always makes you wait in ways that aren't just about time. 

sae itoshi shows up five minutes late, umbrella tilted lazily over his shoulder, hair slightly tousled by the wind. he doesn’t apologize. of course he doesn’t. he just glances at you, lips pressed into that unreadable line, like your presence here is both expected and inexplicable. 

“you’re wet,” he says flatly. 

“great observation,” you reply, deadpan. “next you’ll tell me the sky is blue.” 

he doesn’t respond, just lifts the umbrella higher so it covers the two of you. his arm brushes against yours, barely, but you feel it like a spark anyway. 

you hate how calm he looks. you hate how he does this – appears in your life again like he never really left. one text. that’s all it took. “you still take the 7:15?” and you said yes. gosh, of course you said yes. 

“so… what is this?” you ask, voice low. “you miss my sarcasm or something?” 

his eyes move to yours then, slow and deliberate. sae’s always been like this – silent, heavy with meaning, like he communicates in pauses more than words. and you’ve known him long enough to read between them, even if it hurts. 

“i saw that photo,” he says finally. “the one with you and that guy.” 

you blink. “what?” 

“the one where he’s got his arm around you. you were smiling.” he says it without inflection, but there’s a sharpness to it, like he’s testing you. or himself. 

you cross your arms tighter. “so? people smile in photos.” 

sae looks away, jaw tight. “you looked happy.” 

“and that bothers you?” you ask, stepping half an inch closer. “why? because i moved on?” 

he doesn’t answer. just stands there, rain dripping off the edge of the umbrella like it’s marking time. you want to hit him and hug him at the same time. classic sae effect. 

finally, he says quietly, “i didn’t think i’d care. but i did.” 

that makes your heart thump in a way that makes you furious. you hated how he left things. always cool. always distant. always expecting you to read the fine print of his silences. 

“you could’ve said that months ago.” 

“i know.” 

“so why now?” 

he shrugs, but it’s not casual. nothing about him is, when it comes to you. “i thought if i gave you space, you’d forget me. or i’d forget you.” 

“did it work?” 

his eyes flick to yours again, sea-green and solemn. “no.” 

you should be angry. you should tell him it’s too late. that you’ve built a life without him. that you learned how to stop checking your phone every five minutes. but somehow, all you do is sigh. 

“i don’t know what you want from me, sae.” 

he’s quiet for a moment. the kind of quiet that aches. 

then he says, voice barely above a whisper, “i don’t want anything. i just… wanted to see you. make sure you’re still real.” 

your chest tightens. 

the train screeches in the distance, and the moment feels like it’s suspended between then and now, like you could choose to walk away and it would hurt, but it wouldn’t kill you. you’re not sure you could say the same for him. 

you glance up at him, still standing close, still sharing his umbrella with you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“you don’t have to say anything,” he adds. “i know i messed it up.” 

your voice is softer now. “you did.” 

he nods. doesn’t try to defend himself. doesn’t move away either. 

but as the train pulls in and the wind gusts again, you feel his fingers graze yours under the umbrella – tentative, like he’s asking for a second chance without the pride or the words. 

and for some reason, you don’t pull away. 

not yet. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[cuteandhughesy]

It’s You. ╰┈➤ AS37

summary: when your best friend needs a fake girlfriend for his cousins wedding, you are the girl he claims is his. after all, what’s the worse than can happen? well, after sharing a bed, an awkward conversation about sex with his family and an unexpected kiss, you and andrei are forced to confront feelings you thought you had been repressing.

[word count] 10.9k

warnings: MATURE! friends to lovers | fake dating | fluff | a lil angst | weddings | l kissing | reader is mentioned to have glasses | fade to black smut scene | drinking | mention of sex organs | mature themes and dialogue | read at your own discretion

a/n: the end of 2024, I put out a poll asking which players you wanted to see my write for (that I haven’t done yet) and svechy was one of the players you guys wanted to see! so I hope you guys love this 💋 this uses some scenes from a no-longer published fic—if it looks familiar, that’s because it is ❤️

🎵 perfect places by lorde, scared of my guitar by olivia rodrigo, must be nice by ruel, breakfast in bed by nessa barrett, carry you home by alex warren, it's you by zayn, best friends by 5 seconds of summer, delicate by taylor swift, + always been you by shawn mendes

andrei already knows that it's not the brightest idea he's ever had. actually, refrain that, it's quite possibly the worst idea he's ever had.

it's just—the idea passed through his system and fell out of his mouth before he could even blink. andrei's mother and aunt had practically ambushed him on a three way call just over three weeks ago—8 a.m in russia, 1 a.m. in carolina—which already had him in a frazzle. but then they immediately started asking about the dreaded (dreaded for andrei, more so than anyone else, obviously) plus one attached to his cousins wedding invitation.

the wedding that yes, was in fact only three weeks away. and a plus one attachment that andrei still hadn't confirmed or denied if he needed. because according to his very empty left side of the bed, and the singular toothbrush on his bathroom counter, andrei svechnikov is very much single and very much not needing a plus one.

but it just came out before he could stop it.

‘of course i'll be bringing someone to the wedding mama and tetr! in fact, i'll be bringing my girlfriend!’

and know here he is, 2 hours into an 18 hour flight from raleigh to his hometown in a first class seat that, despite its expanse of leg room, feels all too small. it's suffocating for no other reason than his own doing and sneakiness that he’s drowning in.

because you're next to him, happy and sipping on your third glass of champagne—skin radiating heat with the bubbly alcohol running through your bloodstream. you're halfway to tipsy and somehow completely oblivious to the way andrei's shoulders are still tight and ridged, something that normally subsides after take off.

as far as you know—because it's what your best friend told you, mind you—you're attending andrei's cousins wedding as his best friend. because since 2019, where you meet the russian hurricanes rookie downtown at a shitty dive bar playing music far too loud, you and andrei have been just that. best friends.

you suppose the friendship blossomed because of your common interests of sports and adam sandler movies and how the smell of coconut is one of your favourite things in the entire world. or perhaps it was your differences that had you and andrei forming such a strong friendship.

you hate rollercoasters, but andrei loves them.

you love tequila, but when andrei drinks tequila he ends up with his head inside a toilet bowl.

you would rather eat rubber than an olive, but andrei puts olives on everything he eats—much to his dietary staffs displeasure. salt is a killer people.

regardless, the both of you bonded over shitty honey garlic wings served with a side of ranch—sauce on the side per your request, to which he called you a weirdo for. whatever—and became fast friends.

so obviously three weeks ago when andrei asked if you wanted to come to the wedding so he, you and quote, 'doesn't have to be alone while he young cousins force him to play around the yard, and his distant family talks his ear off the entire weekend,' you easily complied. you booked the time off work that afternoon before leaving the office without so much as a second thought.

but andrei didn't tell you why he needed you to join him. not the real reason anyways. because what? he's just supposed to say, 'oh by the way, this weekend I need you to be my fake girlfriend because I told my family that's what we have become. boyfriend and fucking girlfriend.'

yeah, unfucking likely. and andrei knows that you're not going to kill him over his little lie. that's just not you. he's also sure that if he was truthful from the beginning with you, you would've agreed to the whole fake in love act with the snap of a finger. because you're giving and caring and so damn compassionate that it's almost sickly.

but andrei just couldn't. he kept pushing the truth back, telling himself that the moment would come and that’s when he would come clean. but now you're both on the plane to russia, wedding just a few days away, and you still have no idea that in 16 hours you're going to be sharing a bed and holding hands and maybe even needing to show a few kisses.

god, it's a mess.

"do you feel sick?" your smooth voice breaks andrei out of his stress whirling thoughts, lifting his palm off his sweaty forehead like he's been caught stealing candy. it's then when andrei realizes he audibly groaned out loud, which obviously did it’s part in grabbing your attention.

he swallows and sends you an unconvincing smile. "no, i'm fine." andrei feels sick alright, just not in the way you're picturing.

you blink like a baby deer at him from over the adjustable wall between your scoop like seats—your champagne glass abandoned on the fold away table in favour of clutching the edge of the wall between your manicured fingers.

a pout pulls at your lips before you reach out, touching his forehead with the back of your hand. "are you warm?"

andrei jerks back, worried that you’ll notice the misting of sweat dusting his hairline. "no, what? I'm fine, y/n."

you send him a skeptical look, "you look like you're about to blow chunks everywhere."

"that's gross."

"it's true," you chime. a beat passes, your gaze never wavering from andrei's wound up, tight expression, while the plane continues to easily glide through the clouds.

you take your bottom lip between your teeth, gnawing on the plump skin until it will undoubtedly go raw. andrei has to stop himself from reaching over to pull your lip out with his thumb.

"are you mad about something? nervous?" you push, determined to get your best friend to spill regardless of how tightly wound up he is. and obviously you've noticed that he's been a little...off, for lack of a better word, the past three weeks. andrei is your best friend, of course you noticed.

but you know better than to push him, and that andrei will open up when he's ready—like usual. but the champagne floating around in your head has your tongue slipping, and curiosity has gotten the best of you.

"is it something I did?" you swallow, something tentative in your tone that makes andrei's belly clench with guilt.

"no," he breathes before running a calloused hand down the front of his flushed face. andrei looks back over to you, eyes flickering between your wide and sad ones, and he just breaks. "I fucked up."

ever amused by his dramatics, you quirk a brow at his distress. the drunk haze has you unable to see his actual, very real, distress. "you get the sushi from that airport kiosk after I went to the bathroom, didn't you?"

but it's then —when andrei looks over at you with a guilt ridden, pouty raw lip, that you blink. hard. a wave of hot sweat rushing over your skin as every possible problem arises in your body.

andrei mutters your name in that deep, gravelly way and you think you might be the one who ends up puking.

"what is it?" you swallow, "what happened? are you okay?"

he groans again, no less dramatic than the previous display, head falling back against the plush first class cushioned head rest, giving himself a nice view of the hard plastic roof above.

andrei thinks back to the phone call with his family—more specifically, how pleased they sounded when he told them that you were the girl he was bringing home.

you, the girl he's cared for since before he could string a cohesive english scentence together.

you, the girl who his mom facetimes more than she facetimes her own son.

you, the best friend his family has had the pleasure of falling in love with and accepting as one of their own. but left disappointed when andrei said, no, nothings there between you.

just friends.

it's too late to back out now—for obvious reasons, clearly—but also for the fact that he can't take this away from his family now. not when his mother had said she's been waiting for the two of you to fall in love.

so fall in love you must. even if it's fake.

andrei's head lols against the headrest over in your direction, and he gulps slowly, adam's apple bobbing largely. before he can chicken out and do something crazy like jump out of the emergency exit, andrei's lips part with hesitation.

"we have to pretend to be in love," he pauses, "like in love."

at first you just blink at him, face completely flat and void of emotion, and then every so subtly, your brows draw together. "...why?"

"I just," andrei hesitates like he's not quite sure exactly what to say to you. he chalks it up to the way your soft eyes are unwavering—patient, even—and that's the reason andrei just spews.

he tells you everything. from the wedding invitation with the accompanying plus one he got in the mail a year prior, and all the way through the conversation with his mom and his aunt just a few weeks ago. the taunting plus one and lack of girlfriend that just bubbled up in his chest until the lie just fell off his tongue.

andrei takes a much needed inhale, his cheeks flushed like a little boys in the summer heat. "and when my mom asked for my girlfriends name...I don't know? you were the first person I thought of."

you nod after a beat, every so slightly that andrei is not sure if he's imagining it. you fall back into the large seat with a fluttering sigh, "oh fuck."

andrei can't help the disbelief laced laughter that rumbles through his broad chest, because, yeah, oh fuck is right.

you turn to look at him, face a little less flushed than the last time you did.

"if it makes you feel any better," he continues awkwardly, scratching the spot next to his heart like a nervous habit. "my mom was really excited that we're together now."

"andrei."

he winces, "are you mad at me?"

the question prompts a flash of deja vu from meer minutes ago, when the question was flipped between you. "no," you tell him after a beat, running a clammy hand over your untamed hair. "i'm just...trying to digest it all."

"right, of course." andrei swallows and sits up straighter in his seat, "and I know i'm springing this on you very last fucking minute. but i've already figured it all out, and i've got some sort of a game plan for us."

"a game plan?"

"yeah," he nods, "I've called it the 'andrei and y/n love affair 2025.'"

"that's good," you gulp, pulling your knees up against your chest. your matching cream sweat set all blends together in this position, and andrei thinks you look like a cute marshmallow—but he chooses to not verbalize that right now, because it may just push you over the edge.

even though right now, you're surprisingly calm and it's kind of freaking him out even further.

you continue, "I hope you have this said love affair plan written down because we really gotta figure this out before we get to russia."

instinctively his chocolate eyes flicker towards the map screen, stealing a glance at the ETA of the touchdown. andrei looks back at you, "oh, we've got time."

for the next hour and forty five minutes, you and andrei go through every possible nook and cranny of your fake relationship and nail it down. from the beginning right until the very end, the plan has been polished and repeated between you over 20 times. each.

throughout the conversation you started to come a little more to. it helped that andrei asked if you were okay every fifteen seconds—which any other time may be a little annoying—but right now, you accept his persistent with open arms.

knowing that he feels bad about the situation is enough, even though you could never actually be mad at him. not over something as simple as this. the amount of times andrei has picked your drunk ass up from a variety of different carolina bars over the years—or took care of you the next morning—let's just say you definitely owe him a favour or two.

besides, it's not like you're really worried about faking a romantic relationship with andrei. most of the time it feels like andrei is already your boyfriend, just without the kissing and…stuff. now that's making you a bit nervous. but you digress.

you've both had a few glasses of champagne now, allowing yourselves to relax a bit more—which was much needed. it also allows your usual banter and teasing to return between you and andrei, hushed laughter falling from your lips under the dim lights of the cabin.

"so," you muse, a little slurred. "when did you realize you liked me?"

"you're ridiculous," andrei snorts, earning a cautious look from the old lady on the other side of the plane. neither of you notice.

"what," you laugh, "i'm prepping you for the questions." you reach over and push his thick thigh with the tips of your fingers. he barley budges.

"'nobody is going to ask me that." andrei counters teasingly, nudging you back.

"they might!" you counter, a teasing smile still tugging at your lips, a sight that has andrei following suit with his own boyish grin.

"if they ask...i'll say," he pauses, making you wait with half baited breath, tucked under the first class blankets that andrei always thinks feel like toothbrush bristles. andrei shrugs casually, "i'll say always."

your head whips in his direction from where you previously started to flip through the dinner menu—always so easily distracted—so fast that andrei gets a whiff of your raspberry shampoo. it's a pleasant smell, one that reminds him of coming home after a road trip to you sleeping on his apartment couch.

his words settle over your skin like a prickling whisper, and you blink a few times in surprise.

but then, like he didn't just say something so heartfelt and beautiful, turns towards the airplane dinner menu, humming thoughtfully as he reads the three options. "I think i'm gunna get the steak."

—

carefully, but with precision, you roll your shoulders, bones and vertebrae squeaking and cracking in—a much needed, mind you—protest.

you can still smell the lingering champagne and the scent of plane on your skin, and on andrei's as he walks back towards you from where’d he’d been in the heart of baggage claim, both of your suitcases in tow—wheels squeaking along the weathered floor tiles.

andrei looks all but awake as he raises his eyebrows in question, "all ready?"

you groan sleepily as a form of answer, raising your arms in a limb stretching pull, tank top risings and exposing your lower belly to the bustling airport. you removed your fluffy hoodie as soon as you stepped onto the hot, sticky tarmac and it's now sitting comfortably around your best friends broad shoulders, making him look like he belongs in a country club.

oddly enough it suits him—when you said that though he gave you a look.

despite the way andrei urges you along, he too is fighting exhaustion. changing time zones is always a struggle no matter how many times a year andrei does it, and this weekend trip is no exception. there's matching eye bags under both of your eyes, and even though andrei knows that his family is waiting for your arrival, all he wants to do is climb into his small double childhood bed and pass out.

and you're in the same boat it seems, ugg slippered feet dragging on the ground beside andrei as you both step onto the descending escalator—suitcases clinging annoyingly at the change of surface.

the ride down is held for nothing but the whirling sound of the machinery as you and andrei stay quiet. not only are you both on the brink of falling asleep while up right, but you're both so damn nervous about perfecting your plan that speaking about it will only make it worse.

and if you panic, andrei will panic and it will just go to shit.

so silence is good.

once you're stepping off the escalator and onto the ground level of the airport, andrei automatically places his large palm on your lower back, steadying you as you both make your way towards the large exit doors that lead to the even larger parking lot.

a parking lot that undeniably has his family waiting for the both of you. suddenly you’re wishing you guys just called and uber.

your heart flutters anxiously, feet coming to an abrupt stop at the thought of the days ahead. you're supposed to be a girlfriend from here on out, and that has your tongue molding into a sheet of sand paper.

once he notices you’ve stopped walking, andrei spins to look back at you, his brows pulled in the concerned way he always seems to have when it comes to your well being.

"do I look okay?" you ask frantically, running your hands over your oily, yet somehow also frizzy, hair.

"you look fine," andrei soothes, pulling your hands away from your head and holding both of your clammy hands in one of his. stupid giant boy. "stop playing with it though, or else we will really have a problem "

you send him a deadpan look. "you're not funny."

andrei grins despite the sleep lacing his expression. he easily tugs you back into his side as you both begin to short walk towards the doors. finally. "you're right. i'm actually hilarious."

you roll your eyes and push the door open, a wave of heat washing over your already dewy skin and making you feel a bit woozy. andrei reaches over your head and pushes it open further, holding the door and allowing you to easily slip outside.

he continues, "you don't need to be nervous, y/n. you've met my family before and they are already obsessed with you." andrei makes a noise between an amused scoff and a laugh, "my mom texted me yesterday and said she's already changed your contact name to, future daughter in law."

"jesus christ," you exhale shakily, pressing a hand to your forehead. your eyes flicker up to his, "don't say that or i'll start feeling bad."

andrei holds off from smirking, "don't feel bad."

"too late."

"hey, just stop for a second." andrei gently takes ahold of your wrist, his index finger automatically stroking the outer part of your forearm. you know he's doing it to calm you, but unfortunately it only turns your stomach flutters up to a maximum.

andrei swallows, and all signs of his playfulness from mere seconds ago fades. his eyes swim with sincerity as he continues, "if this is too much just tell me and i'll handle it. I don't care if my mom whoops me with her shoe—if you're uncomfortable with this plan, i'll make sure it doesn't move forward."

you blink before managing to give one firm shake of your head. obviously you're nervous, but not enough to ruin your best friends entire trip. not over this. "i'm fine."

he looks skeptical, "promise me?"

"we're not 5." you deadpan.

"promise me."

you sigh—a mixture of reluctance and amusement. "I promise. i'm just...nervous. and overthinking everything. i’ll be fine once I get some sleep."

andrei's response comes easily, like he doesn't even need to think about reassuring you. "that's okay. just be you." he squeezes your wrist. "seriously."

your lips part in an attempt to deflect the wave of tenderness rushing between you and andrei—some sarcastic remark about him becoming a softly, surely. but the excitable gasp from across the surprisingly calm parking lot halts you.

"andrei!" his mothers voice is full of excitement as elena svechnikov bounces on her heels. both you and andrei look towards the commotion and find not only his mother, but his father, igor, and for some reason the family dog.

your best friend grumbles under his breath. "oh god."

you squint through the sunshine reflecting on the cars and distorting your vision. "is that a sign?"

he matches your squinty expression, even going as fair to shield his eyes from the sun with his gigantic hand. "that's definitely a sign."

his mother, ever to sweetest lady—seriously like purse candy, shirt of her back, treats you like her own kind of sweet—is clutching a piece of red and black decorated bristol board. canes colours obviously. a big and bold font that says welcome home smack dab in the middle.

you're pretty sure there are even a few pictures of you and andrei accompanying the words.

andrei's shoulders fall in what is probably exhaustion and the act of giving up. his eyes flicker towards your side profile, a careful expression on his face as he asses yours.

"we got this," you mutter after a beat, squinting through the blistering sun and away from his parents—up at your best friend.

"I hope so." without another passing second, andrei interlocks your fingers together, a soft yet confident smile overtaking his face as he pulls you both across the parking lot and in the direction of his family.

you don't even register the feeling of his hand in yours until his mother is greeting you both happily, pulling you into a bone crushing embrace that has the potential to crack your ribs.

"wow mom," andrei snickers playfully, ruffling the dogs overrun head of curls as it jumps up his thighs. "you must love y/n more than me if you’re greeting her first."

elena waves of his teasing before pulling andrei into a hug that mimics the one you just received. andries father gives you a polite hug and then takes one of the suitcases andrei wheeled up to the side of the car.

"how was the flight?" his mom questions, eyes darting between you both with the upmost twinkle of curiosity.

"long," you breathe a laugh.

andrei grins, "but we were fine. lots of talking to pass the time."

you shoot him a look, and andrei winks at you in response.

this guy.

registering your voice, the family dog bounds towards you next, its chubby legs and paws scratching at your legs, tail wagging happily while it pants up at you—clearly seeking affection. affection that you're happy to provide. always a sucker for animals, you crouch down and scrub behind the dogs ears. it earns you a satisfied rumble from its tiny body.

"you guys are definitely tired," elena clicks her tongue in displeasure, running a knuckle over her sons cheek like he’s a kid. "let's get you two home."

she gently pets your head before making sure her husband is packing the luggage in the car correctly—even though igor claims there's no correct way to pack a trunk. andrei's mother begs to differ.

the dog follows in her footsteps, leaving you. with a sigh, you place your hands on your knees and push up from your crouched position.

clearly you should've checked how close andrei was standing behind you, because your proximity has you completely grinding your ass against his crotch as you move to stand.

you gasp as andrei lets out a gentle grunt.

"sorry!" you wince quietly, but before you can move away, andrei arm wraps around your waist, fingers flexing against your lower stomach as he pulls you back into his chest, holding you in place and not allowing you to escape.

"it's okay baby." he says. you try not let your eyes widen at the nickname or the way you can feel his semi poking at your lower back. you're sure the blush you're now sporting is visible by anyone in the general vicinity and that's embarrassing enough.

elena hearing your voices, turns away from her husband and looks towards you. the sight of you embraced has her cooing, hands held to her chest like she's just seen the rebirth of christ himself.

"aren't you too so cute, I'm glad you two are finally together." it's clear she's not seeking any kind of response with her admiration because she turns and gets into the passenger seat before either you or andrei can attempt at closing your gaping mouths. you seriously look like fish.

the car door slamming shut has andrei blinking. he clears his throat once, and drops his arm from around your waist, and despite the heat of the sun, his lack of touch leaves you feeling cool.

you quickly move away from andrei and his...situation, allowing him the space to subtly fix his problem before anything else. you try not to think about it and pass your backpack to andrei's father, who is waiting patiently for the last bit of luggage.

"you okay sweetie?" igor sends you a weary coupled with amused glance, placing your pink bag on top of andrei's green suitcase. "you're looking flushed."

your eyes widen into saucers as your skin only warms further. jesus christ.

thankfully, ever your savour, andrei saunters up next to you, shoving his own carry on into the trunk with anything less than grace. he laughs, "it is summer, dad. we're both roasting." andrei jerks his head towards the front of the suv while the dog barks happily from his mothers lap. "go ahead and get in dad, run the air conditioner for a second. i've got the rest of the bags."

as soon as igor gets into the driver's seat, your both whipping in each others direction, looks of bewilderment on your faces as the last 5 minutes linger in the air.

"fuck i'm sorry," andrei whispers frantically, pretending to adjust the suitcases to not draw too much attention to either of you. "I don't know what came over me there. are you okay?"

you can't help your eyes from flickering towards his crotch. "are you okay?"

"I will be as soon as we stop talking about it."

you snort a laugh before quickly covering your mouth with your hand, concealing the sound. andrei sends you a harsh look which only makes you giggle more.

he shuts the trunk. "just...get in the car."

"such a gentlemen."

all earlier teasing and playfulness comes to a lull as the cool and plush leather seat envelopes you—the lack of rest and pure exhaustion quickly creeping back into your bones. it's truly game over when the car starts moving, lulling you into a much needed sleep.

not even the smell of airplane and greasy hair can stop the comfort of your best friends thick body pressed against yours, providing you with the most perfect pillow as you knock out, the beautiful city of barnaul passing through the window panes.

— day 1 BREAKFAST

you have very faint memory of climbing up the stairs of the svechnikov home after arriving back from the airport. andrei helped you out the car—sleep still clouding your eyes and your legs wobbly like a brand new baby giraffe.

the next thing you know, you're blinking awake, the sun shining through the sheer blue curtains and assaulting your eyes. you're not sure exactly what time it is, but based on the light and the smell of breakfast food wafting up the stairs, you can only assume you've slept through yesterday afternoon and night.

you blink a few times, squinting at the alarm clock on the bedside table until it becomes clear—7:08 a.m. you groan into the quiet room, the mattress squeaking under your weight while you shift into a more upright position. the navy blue plaid duvet falls to your hips. it unmistakably smells like andrei, and although it's a room you've stayed in before, being in here never fails to make you feel all warm and fuzzy.

there are posters up on his wall of ovechkin and a few other russian nhl stars. old hockey sticks sit collecting dust in the corner of his room, and next to them is your suitcase. andrei must've rolled it in after you got into the bed, where you undoubtedly knocked right back out.

you stretch the stiffness from your limbs before slipping out of bed. you're still in your travel clothes, so you make quick work of changing into something a little more appropriate—cut offs and an old shirt of andrei's because you really can't be bothered to dress up for 7 am breakfast—and cleaning yourself up.

after a quick trip to the bathroom where you speed run brushing your teeth and washing your face, you timidly make your way down the stairs, the noise of bacon sizzling on the stove and gentle chatter becoming louder as you enter the room.

evgeny, andrei's brother, spots you first from his spot already sitting at the dining table. he quickly swallows his gulp of tea before calling your name in welcome greeting, "hey, you're up. how was the flight?"

it causes a chain reaction really. elena and igor turn to look in your direction from where they're fussing over scrambled eggs and various meats in the frying pan—both greeting you warmly in a way that just sounds like one long jumbled scentence. evgeny's fiancee, sara, smiles and says your name in the bubbly way she does, patting the chair next to her as an invitation.

the dogs loudly barking and it's kind of a lot for this early, but you've done it all before, and easily navigate through the bustling kitchen, and the happy dog weaving through your legs, to take a seat beside sara.

"it was alright," you answer evgeny's question while sara wordlessly pours you some orange juice. it's your favourite, and elena always makes sure it's made fresh anytime you and andrei come visit. the thought of that alone has any lingering tiredness disappearing, and a absentminded smile blossoming on your face at the simple gesture.

he snickers and shoves some bacon into his mouth. "long, huh?"

"you can say that."

"sausage or bacon, y/n?" igor glances at you over his shoulder.

you hum, "bacon, thank you."

"you and andrei," his mother woos knowingly, "you're both the only people I know who love bacon as much as you do." elena holds a plate towards her husband, and once he piles some bacon beside the gooey eggs, she's placing it on the woven placemat in front of you.

"speaking of sleeping beauty," evgeny's playfully tone has you looking away from your breakfast and towards the archway that sits between the kitchen and family room. and there stands andrei,  sweatpants hung low on his hips, and hair messy like he's been running his hand through it.

you heart ticks as you lock eyes and the corner of andrei's lips turn upwards into a lazy smile.

"get enough beauty rest?" his older brother continues to tease him, earning evgeny a flick to his bicep courtesy of elena.

your brows furrow, as its only then you realize andrei wasn't in his childhood bed, but in fact, you were. "where'd you sleep?" it's not uncommon for you and andrei to share a sleeping place, even if he's on a half deflated air mattress, grumbling like a baby, while you snuggle in the cozy bed.

"the guest room — although," he shoots his mother a look, "it was hard with all the clothes that have seemingly taken over that bed." andrei rounds to the back of your chair, hovering over you while he playfully scolds his mother.

naturally you tilt your head back to continue looking at him, his mothers rebuttal comforting background noise.

he looks down at you, a half frown settling over his face. "you're squinting. you forgot your glasses, didn't you?" he reaches out and runs his thumb along the crease between your eyebrows.

the action is so soft and so sincere that you almost forget you need to reply like a normal person. "oh, right. yeah, I did."

you didn’t even realize you’d forgotten them.

andrei always notices.

he hums in what sounds like displeasure, taking his thumb off your face in favour of moving to sit on the unoocupied chair to the other side of you and sara. then andrei gulps down three huge gulps of your orange juice and just like that you forget about the butterflies in your stomach—snatching back the glass and shoving at his shoulder.

elena sits down across the table, breakfast plate piled high with eggs and fruit and sausage. it's just as mouth watering as your own plate. "you know," she starts, "you don't have to sleep in the guest room, andrei."

he shrugs, the kind of shrug that tells you he's listening to his mother but he's not actually hearing her. no, he’s too busy shoving eggs covered in pepper into his mouth. "it's no big deal," andrei stays through bites.

elena waves a dismissive hand, while she forks some cantaloupe with the other. "oh don't spare me son, I know you two share a bed, and It's alright to sleep upstairs with y/n." she pauses, a half amused and half concerned drawn look at her face. "well, I can imagine you do more than just share the bed."

you choke on your sip of juice at the same time andrei almost spits out the piece of bacon he just greedily scarfed. it earns you both curious looks from around the table. well, curious for everyone except evgeny, who looks all too amused with the way this conversation is headed.

"oh, that's okay-"

andrei cuts you off, a blush settling high over his cheeks. "mom, do not continue that thought."

"what?" she squawks, "it's completely normal for people who are together to make love."

"make love!" evengey relates with a laugh.

sara hides her face.

igor, used to his wife's antics, just stays silent. but the half smile on his face lets you know that he too is amused.

but you and andrei are like statues.

elena continues, "although i'd prefer if you didn't do anything in your childhood room, andrei. it's too nostalgic for you to just...strip it of its innocence." she forks some more egg onto her utensil, "but as soon as you guys get back to carolina, please, get to making me some grand babies."

"okay," andrei cuts her off before either of you can truly die from embarrassment. he scratches the spot near his heart awkwardly, and even in your own state of despair, you have to resist the urge to distract him. "can we save the sex talks until dinner." he trails off, muttering under his breath, "and the babies until the wedding."

it's sara who clears her throat, clearly also feeling the laughable tension—and snickering from her husband—tainting breakfast. she plasters on a smile, before shifting the conversation. thank god.

"I can't believe it took you guys so long."

you tilt your head, "what do you mean?"

sara laughs in a way that tells you she finds this whole ordeal cute. not sure if that’s the word you would use to describe it, but anyways. “to get together. you know, dating.”

"right!" you almost shout, blinking fast. without thinking, you toss your hand on andrei’s thick thigh, rubbing it briefly like some weird form of possessive affection.

at your touch, andrei tenses. you can feel it under your palm. if it wasn’t for his family all around, you would’ve face palmed right in that very moment. is this a normal thing girls do with their boyfriend? grope his thigh during family breakfast?

before you can remove your grip and regret your entire existence, andrei casually tosses his thick arm over the back of your dining room chair. his fingers stroke your shoulder over your (his) oversized shirt, wordlessly reassuring you that everything is fine.

it feels far from fine, especially with your hand starting to sweat.

“yeah,” andrei shrugs the shoulder that’s not beside yours, “guess I finally realized what was right in front of me.”

you shove some more eggs into your mouth, chewing slowly while your try to not freak out. and then andrei’s hand is on the back of your head, scratching your scalp like it’s an everyday occurrence.

why are you kind of wishing it was?

sara and elena gush, sharing knowing looks over the table. a look that says yeah, I remember falling in love with a svechnikov.

which on one hand is great—they are truly buying the whole fake dating thing.

but on the other hand—fuck, do you look like you’re actually in love with your best friend?

"I always thought the two of you would be cute together.” sara notes after swallowing her bite of whole wheat toast. “i've been telling y/n that since, what, like our engagement party in september?"

andrei makes a light noise, “is that so?” he tugs at the roots of your hair, “you never told me that.”

“mhmm,” you hum noncommittally, finishing off your glass of orange juice. you barley remembered that conversation with, at the time, newly engaged fiancée until this moment. you briefly recall you and sara, wine drunk and with a ring glittering on her finger—her smooth voice talking about you and andrei and how she thinks he’s in love with you.

you look at andrei, “didn’t cross my mind.”

“oh no?” he murmurs, voice all low and syrupy.

evgeny snorts, “get a room.”

you let out a laugh that sounds a lot like a grumbly breath, retracting your hand from andrei’s leg. you attempt to get the pitcher of orange juice but your best friend beats you to it, refilling your glass almost dangerously full—no doubt planning on stealing some more.

then andrei takes your hand in his, interlocking your fingers and then resting them on top the table. it so sweet and domestic and if it wasn’t doing funny things to your head, you’d probably melt at the sight.

elena grins, “awe, they’re holding hands.”

and then—

“yeah soon enough they’ll be making babies in the bathroom.”

— day 2 REHEARSAL DINNER

andrei check his watch, not impatiently mind you, because when it comes to waiting for you, andrei has all the patience in the world.

plus his mother would kick him in the butt if andrei even breathed the wrong way right now about your current lack of presence. his cousins rehearsal dinner starts in an hour, and with a 45 minute drive to the vineyard, andrei is looking to leave like, 2 minutes ago.

which is fine, because he's not just waiting on you. sara is still upstairs with you, and his mother is changing out her purse on the kitchen island because her usual handbag isn't the right shade. andrei didn't even realize there were different shades of black. but whatever.

it’s just about as andrei is about to climb up the stairs and make sure you haven't burned all your hair off and are having a breakdown in his dinosaur themed bathroom , the sound of shoes clicking on the floorboards echo through the home.

and then you're appearing, in some breezy conversation with his brothers wife while you descend down the stairs. your dress, which is the perfect shade of summer blue, swooshes coolly around your ankles, making you look like a real life princess. your hair is styled perfectly, and you've even added a little extra glitter to your eyelids and andrei thinks you look fucking ridiculously pretty.

your eyes catch his, and you falter. time slows down like honey between you and andrei, warming your skin and making your knees feel heavy.

andrei's lips part like he's going to say something, but elena waltzes into the room, igor just being her—both sporting wide smiles as the height of the evening approaches.

his mother spots you and inhales sharply. "oh wow, don't you look beautiful. andrei, honey, doesn’t she look beautiful?"

it seems to break you both out of your locked, heated gaze. you smile naturally like being polite is second nature, closed mouth and with glossy lips as you continue the rest of the way down the stairs. you gravitate next to andrei instinctively.

"yeah," andrei breathes, a half smile on his face that says something words can't yet. "she does."

and then he ruffles your hair and everything shifts again. you smack him away form your freshly done hair, but andrei just takes your hand in his, interlocking your fingers as his parents usher everyone out the door.

—

the speeches go by in a flurry of laughter and emotion, warming your chest in a longing way you didn't release you held. there was one point when the best man started talking about how lovely the bride to be was, and your eyes got a little misty. which meant that there were fat tears rolling down your cheeks. andrei caught it, and instead of snickering at your emotion, he tugged you into his side, wiping your tears before they could continue to fall with his thumb, before turning his attention back to the speeches.

somehow, that was worse than him laughing.

thankfully as soon as the food came around, your stomach growled and the tears and sudden feeling of impending doom towards being single forever, disappeared. it's delicious and perfect and andrei keeps purposefully nudging his knee against yours under the table when someone makes a loud, stupid joke.

and that always ends up with you hiding your grin in his shoulder.

andrei, long clearing his own plate, snatches one of your brussels with his silver fork. right off your plate without a care.

your mouth goes agape, a half laugh falling from your lips. "hey!" you scold, "those are mine."

"sharing is caring," he reminds you, stabbing two more from the pile before raising them to his mouth.

"so?"

"so, do you want me to starve or something?" 

you quirk a teasing brow, "maybe if you savoured the taste of your own dinner, instead of scarfing it down like a neanderthal, you would actually be full."

"I can help it," andrei says around chewing, leaning in real close before continuing. "they're so buttery and delicious." clearly, andrei is trying to sound sudective and wind you up, but all you can hear is his chewing and it has you laughing, pushing him away as his voice tickles your neck.

"you're so gross." you laugh, grabbing the last full brussel that andrei was hoarding on the prongs of his fork, and then pop it into your own mouth.

he tongues his cheek as you chew up at him, a shake to his head so slow and soft that you're not even sure he's done. it's admiration, and amusement, and care—and it sends your heart into cardiac arrest.

andrei's gaze is so intense that it has a shiver running up your spine. the feeling making you straighten your posture and force yourself to look away. you don't see the way his face falls, or feel the way his heart drops.

and andrei doesn't know the way your heart has completely opened up to him in a different way. a way that reminds you of the feeling of home. of the past. of love.

"so, how'd you two meet?"

someone who you're pretty sure is a college friend of the groom, asks from across the table, looking between you and andrei curiously. his girlfriend has the same look on her face, hugging her man's arm fondly.

their display of affection makes you feel a bit funny considering you and andrei are supposed to look in love, but aren't even cuddling with one another at the dman rehearsal dinner like the very real couple.

so—awkwardly—you lean through the space between you and andrei, and wrap your arms around his bicep, your cheek resting against the crisp linen button up decorating his shoulder.

andrei shoots you a curious yet amused look. clearly he knows what you're trying to do, because he doesn't bring attention to your sudden affection. instead, he plays into it, large hand coming over your knee like this is something you two do all the time.

it must look natural enough because no one around the two of you bat an eye.

"we met at a bar." andrei says, "around the time I was drafted to the NHL."

"we've been friends for years." you add on without thinking.

a bridesmaid next to the couple nods, "and when did you realize you were in love?"

andrei laughs softly, rubbing that spot on his chest with his free hand. he swallows gently before answering the loaded question. "her laugh. that night at the bar, she was laughing at something one of her friends had said. I was naturally attracted to the sound. it was loud and real- it matched her perfectly."

andrei pauses, thumb twitching over the material of your blue dress. "and then when we started to chat, she was so patient with my broken english and bad flirting that I just..." he trails off, meeting your eyes from where you're softly peering up at him. "I fell for her that very same night."

you're pretty sure you stop breathing, and if you weren't surrounded by a bunch of strangers, you probably would've audibly gasped at that.

andrei blinks sheepishly, like he's only just taking account of what he's actually just said. he looks away form your gentle gaze and back towards the member of his cousins wedding party—who is staring at the two of you with a look he can't decipher.

andrei forces a chuckle and it's like a cold water bucket over your head. "only took me 7 years to admit it." he squeezes your knee in a way that feels like an apology mixed with truth. "but we're here now. right baby?"

"yeah," you clear your throat, his words and admission laying heavy on your heart. "we are."

—day 3 THE WEDDING

okay so you've kind of been avoiding andrei since the rehearsal dinner. and that was yesterday. it's just—you don't really know where to go from that.

even if andrei was trying to play into the whole fake relationship scheme, he literally admitted that he's been into since the night you met in that dingy raleigh bar almost 8 years ago. even if he didn't actually mean it, hearing him say those words cracked open the locked box in your chest.

when you met andrei many moons ago, you were quickly drawn to his dorky smile and shy persona. it was almost instantly that you developed some form of infatuation. and back then—drunk of course. you were in college. in a bar after all—you were much more confident.

you weren't going to let the russian slip away. not when the guy had you flustered and dipping your chin after two minutes of a half strung together conversation.

so you made sure to stay in touch. texting and calling and making andrei download snapchat so he could see how dolled up you'd get. for him.

you went out for drive thru dinners before andrei’s athletic trainer cared too much about the food he was consuming, and you watched movies with your legs tangled together in his apartment. fuck you even helped him learn english outside of his lessons.

but nothing ever happened. no moves were made because frankly, you weren't sure if he possessed the same kind of romantic interest in you.

so you pushed those feeling away. deep, deep, deep down into the spot in your heart you keep concealed to everyone, even to yourself. and you threw that damn metaphorical key in the toilet it and flushed it. twice.

friendship was good. and easy. and you could accept a friendship with him. because you still had him, regardless of your hidden feelings.

and you thought your feelings for your best friend had completely vanished in the last 8 years. until last night. when andrei and his sweet words and large mitt on your leg—stroking you and squeezing your flesh—started taking about falling for you the same night you fell for him.

surprise! feelings are coming back up the drain and soaking you.

and, oh god, the wedding. the venue which was stupidly packed and even more beautiful, decorated in lavender and baby pink, only made your feelings amplify.

because your avoidance for andrei didn't stop him from being the most patient and sweetest guy. he could tell you needed space as soon as you woke up this morning, and he walked into the bathroom to find you angrily brushing your teeth—and when you didn't send him a foamy smile from around the handle, andrei just knew something was up.

so he just sat beside you silently during the ceremony, wordlessly handing you a few tissues from his suit jacket when you began to cry during the vows. even when he didn't know your tears had nothing to do with the happy couple up at the altar, but instead the guy you've been in love with since before you knew the difference between tequila and vodka.

"you okay?" andrei asks during the journey to the ceremony outside, to the reception inside, words hushed against your ear while his hand hovers your lower back.

you nod, too quick and ridged. "just need a drink."

and drink did you ever. because two hours later once the sun has long set, and your shoes have been abandoned under the dinner table in favour of dancing, you can barley contain your drunken laughter and poorly timed singing.

you've probably had two bottles of wine to yourself.

and andrei can tell because your skin has changed shades and you no longer seem upset. which andrei knows is only because the liquor has coated your bloodstream, allowing you to forget whatever—or whoever—had upset you.

even though andrei is 99.9% positive that the reason for your cold shoulder is him. that, or the oyster joke evgeny made yesterday afternoon, but that was a long shot. it was most certainly him.

andrei watches with what he doesn't realize is a full blown pout on his face—like glistening, down turned lips, chin resting on his knuckles pouting—as you spin around with his sister in law.

not even the sound of your previous seat scraping against the floor pulls andrei out of his sad stare. it’s only when his brother nudges him that andrei blinks.

“so,” evgeny starts, voice low enough to keep the conversation between them, but still loud enough to be heard over the music. “y/n, huh?

“yeah,” andrei breathes, “y/n.” your name taste like sugar on his tongue.

evgeny nods in approval, but his lips are pursed in thought. a beat passes between them, nothing but the laughter of guests and synth pop song playing from the dj booth to be heard.

“can't say I'm suprised,” his brother eventually settles on, making andrei’s brows turn upwards in question while a rush of ice shoots through his veins. the inquiry and tone of evgeny’s statement has andrei feeling weary.

simply due to the fact that his older brother has always known andrei better than andrei knows himself.

he’s scratching at his chest again, but evgeny notices the nervous tic before andrei notices it himself. once andrei sees his brothers knowing glance though, andrei pulls his hand away so fast it’s like he’s been burnt, choosing to rap his knuckles against the table cloth instead.

andrei lick his lower lip before speaking. lis that a bad thing?”

“absolutely not,” evgeny reassures at the speed of light, voice steady. “it's just...I could tell that you loved her. always have.”

andrei laughs once—low and breathy—despite the way the words weigh on his chest. “I haven't always loved her. you're making me sound like a sad puppy or something equally as...” andrei trails off, but his brother is quick to fill the silence.

“pathetic?”

“yeah.”

“well, you are pathetic.” evgeny snorts, a playful edge to his voice that makes andrei sweaty. nervous. “when it came to her. always watching her, not subtly at all. and the flowers, and the birthdays, and that one year you couldn’t come home for christmas because y/n had the flu and you wanted to make sure she was okay.”

andrei shrugs causally, all while the weight of the truth sits like thick fog in the air. suffocating him. andrei doesn’t dare look over at you. not now. not when it will make him crumble and spill everything. “well i'm a good friend-and boyfriend.”

his brother doesn’t comment on the slip up. “I know that. but when it came to taking care of y/n and just being with her, it wasn't just about you being a good friend. it was about you loving her.”

fuck.

evgeny watches his brother carefully. he can see the way his words are affecting andrei, and the emotion pricking the heart on his sleeve.

it’s only then, when the conversation comes to another brief pause, does evgeny see the way andrei’s eyes flicker back towards your dancing, carefree frame. and instantly, he watches his younger brothers face changes.

it’s hurt.

it’s longing.

it’s unspoken love.

“it's okay to be in love andrei.” evgeny breathes slowly as if not to startle. “you've got a good one.”

a rough swallow and then andrei nods. “yeah. I do.”

“and mom loves her.”

that seems to do the trick, and it illicit a rough chuckle from andrei’s chest. “you don't say.”

“definitely more than you.”

andrei looks back at his brother, the start of an amused smile beginning to pull at his lips. “thanks dick.”

“you're welcome. and hey—now that you finally have her, never let her go.”

andrei isn’t oblivious to the underlying meaning of evgeny’s words. like he’s said, his older brother knows him well. but it doesn’t stop the panic creeping up andrei’s sternum, and the urge to deflect and deny is uncanny.

just as andrei goes to respond, you stumble into his eyesight, tripping over the air like it was a curb, and completely stealing andrei’s attention. thankfully you catch yourself before falling to the ground, but it still sends andrei’s heart into over drive.

"you okay?" evgeny asks you, his amusement clear. almost as clear as your level of intoxication.

andrei is on his feet before he even realizes that he’s stood up from the upholstered chair, standing next to you with his hand hovering over your back.

you nod with a lazy smile on your face, and your eyes completely glossed over. slowly, because you’re not completely all there, your eyes trail towards andrei. your smile grows tenfold while you grab onto his hips. “hey there. come dance with me?"

"I don't know," he breathes softly, eyes moving over your body as if he’s trying to assess you. regardless, he can’t stop the smile that blossoms across his lips. “I think it’s probably time we go? no?”

you frown playfully, swaying until your chest is pushed against his. "please? just one dance. please, I love this song."

andrei doesn’t recognize the song, and considering you play him every single song you like at least 20 times in a row, he knows you’re lying, and this is just an excuse to get him on the dance floor.

because you have seemingly pushed away your vendetta with him for the moment, andrei decides that he’s taking this opportunity to be with you while things are normal. andrei sighs reluctantly, yet with a hint of enjoyment, and that has your face lighting up—because you can see the answer before he says it.

andrei lets you lead him into the middle of the crowded dance floor and to a spot you seem acceptable before turning in his arms, wrapping your own around his shoulders while his find your waist, completely enveloping you.

the music has slowed down, casting the room with a slow, romantic haze that makes your limbs tingle.

"if you're sick of me after this week and never want to see me again, I understand." andrei mutters after a minute, thick fingers flexing around your body, like he’s fighting an internal battle. one that he seems to win, because he then is pulling you flush against him.

your eyebrows pull towards your nose. "what? no. nothing could make me never want to see you again."

“I hope this weekend hasn’t been too overwhelming,” andrei starts, voice no higher than a whisper due to your proximity. “and i’m sorry again for…springing all this on you—quite literally last minute.”

you shake your head. “i’m not upset, andrei. i’m fine, you really don’t have to worry about me.”

this time, it’s andrei’s brows that turn down. “i’m always going to worry about you, y/n,” he swallows thickly, knees bending ever so slightly so he can better peer into your drunken eyes. “you’re my best friend.”

maybe it’s the liquor, or maybe it’s pure exhaustion of fighting your feelings off for 8 years, but your bold question comes before you can deflect it. “and?”

your prompt makes andrei halt.

a beat passes and then andrei’s hand is running down the back of your head, smoothing your hair and you heart. “and.”

and right now—that unspoken knowing—is enough.

—

andrei brings you up the stairs of his childhood home two hours—and two chugged bottles of water—later. he gently guides you up the walkway, slowly and with his hand on your hip, guiding you and keeping somewhat of your stability in tact—your heels dangling from his index finger of his opposite hand.

he sits you on the edge of his navy bed once you’re back in the comfort of his old bedroom, ensuring that you’re okay before turning and shutting the bedroom door. your heels thump to the floor as he drops them next to the dresser.

andrei pulls his tie loose while spinning back on his heels. instead of the upright position he left you in, you’re now flat on your back, limbs all spread out and starfish like.

you’re not asleep. not yet. but rather grinning like a naughty child at andrei. your hair is fanned out against the covers, and there’s still some sweat lingering on your hair line from all the dancing and alcohol.

you’re quite literally glistening and andrei feels light headed.

"you can't fall asleep yet," he tells you, walking over to stand above you. with a delicate touch, he traces a finger over your thigh, and even through the material of your pale lemon dress, andrei can feel your body heat. "you have to change out of your dress, or else you’ll be mad at me when you wake up because it’s wrinkled."

you whine, "can you do it for me?”

your words are nothing but innocent, but his sex deprived brain doesn’t think the same way, and your whiny tone shoots right down to his dick. andrei swallows roughly, scratching at his chest twice before running his hand through his tousled hair.

you shift, the strapless hem of your dress slipping down just enough that it’s dangerous. andrei’s eyes instinctively dart away—just like the time they did three years ago when you’d been swimming at his place and your nipples got all pebbled under your bikini.

andrei curses under his breath.

you call his name and like the hopeless man he is, looks back at you. "please, i'm tired."

so, so hopeless.

andrei nods, grabbing ahold of your outstretched hands before pulling you back into your previous sitting position. your smile thickens and it has him feeling incredibly nervous.

"stand up for me." andrei requests quietly, and thankfully you agree with a simple nod, moving to stand on unsteady feet at the foit of the bed.

andrei doesn’t dare break eye contact. not when you’re so close that your scent is intoxicating and your bulging breasts are practically calling his name. without blinking or tearing his gaze from yours, his shaky hands reach around your body, blindly finding the clasp of your gown.

the clasp pops open, and you almost don’t catch the dress in time before it falls away to reveal your chest.

but andrei doesn’t stop there, his breathing heavy against you as he begins pulling down the small, yellow zipper. as andrei slowly begins tugging the zipper, revealing more and more of your bare skin, the more your breathing catches.

his knuckles graze against your skin, ilicting a hitched sigh from your plump, wine stained lips.

this exchange is quite possibly the hottest and most intimate thing either of you have every experienced, and nothing really has even happened. perhaps it the hesitant yet eager brushing touches that are making you light head. or perhaps it’s the eye contact between you.

it’s definitely the way your nipples have turned to diamonds, and andrei’s dick is sitting hot and heavy beneath his slacks though.

the zipper hits the end of the track with a soft clinking sound. andrei slowly lets the tag go, his hand smoothing over your hip as he begins to retract his touch.

you can feel his restraint. you can feel his desire.

"andrei," you whisper his name like a prayer. like a mantra. like it’s the password to the 8 year long puzzle between you. “i’m going to let the dress fall now.”

his gaze flickers. just far enough down to see the start of your dress and your barley concealed breasts. then, like gravity, andrei’s eyes find yours again.

“okay.” his voice is hoarse in a way that’s undeniable.

and then the dress hits the floor, the smell of your perfume puffing around you like a cloud as the material falls away. not even the smell of wine could over power your fruity scent.

he doesn’t look. he can’t. not when you’re still a little tipsy and he’s barley holding onto himself. instead, andrei brushes your hair away from your face, lingering on your cheek.

you swallow, “what are you thinking about?”

his answer comes like clockwork. “you.” andrei’s voice falters as you reach out, your much smaller fingers clumsily pulling at the buttons of his dress shirt. like your bodies know what happening before your heads do. as his summer skin becomes exposed, your hands find new home against his flesh.

andrei lick his lower lip and tilts your face up, towards his. "i'm always thinking about you."

and then, without hesitation or reluctance or anything else he’s been fronting since that night in that bar years ago, andrei slots his mouth against yours.

pushing up onto your toes, your grasp at his sides under his unbuttoned shirt, sighing against andrei’s mouth just as he does yours.

with his free hand, andrei grabs your hip, pulling your naked body flush against his, all while he expertly kisses and licks into your awaiting mouth.

after what feels like an eternity of switching between languid, slow kisses and heated hands and desperate kisses, andrei slowly guides you back down to his childhood bed, slotting between your open legs like it’s where he’s meant to be.

and perhaps, it is.

— day 4 THE MORNING AFTER

the sun beating on your back is what wakes you up the next morning. its bright and hot and too much for just opening your eyes. you groan out like a baby, pulling the covers up and over your head to further bury yourself in the cocoon of andrei’s bedding.

andrei.

your eyes snap open at a comical pace, and you sit up even quicker if that’s somehow possible. your eyes flicker towards the right side of the bed where just hours ago, andrei was curled against you. skin warm and bare against yours.

the spot is now empty.

the night comes back to you in movie like flashes. the drinking and the dancing. andrei’s calloused hands on your zipper and even more so on your skin. you sit there, still as a statue, as you remember how andrei kissed you—all over—and how his body rutted into yours like second nature.

the whispered praises and pleasure filled moans.

you remember it all.

and you remember, most of all, that you love him.

you don’t know if you should puke, cry, scream or just jump out the window. maybe all four.

you slip on the housecoat hung over the bed post, tying the string uncomfortably tight, just before slipping out of the bedroom. with last night still fresh, and your feelings practically drowning you, you know you need to find andrei—like yesterday—and tell him.

well, tell him as much as you can without choking on your own tears.

the smell of freshly brewed coffee hits your nostrils before anything else. you round into the kitchen and see elena and igor. they both grin politely, one of them offering you a drink—you’re not sure who because you’re too busy wondering where the hell andrei is to notice anything else.

the words tumble from you without a second thought, interrupting the dogs happy hopping at your ankles. “where's andrei?” and of course the cherry on top is your voice wavering.

elena’s eyes draw in confusion, her lips parting in wordless question.

“i'm here,” andrei’s familiar voice sounds from behind you. and instantly you feel like crying. he rounds to your front, looking freshly showered and clean in his shirt and athletic shorts. “you okay?”

“I just, I thought you left.” you admit, wrapping your arms around yourself as embarrassment washes over you.

“no moya lyubov,” andrei coos with his native tongue, brows pulled tight in concern. he brings you into his arms despite the way your self hug makes it a little awkward. “just putting our bags in the car so it’s all ready to go for tonight.”

“oh right,” you nod, a little dumb. you lower your voice even more before continuing. “we should talk, right?”

“yeah, we should.”

you nod again, manoeuvring in andrei’s arms until you’re able to grasp at his fingers. “come upstairs with me? please.”

he hums. “of course.”

as soon as you’re back in his navy bedroom, and the door is heard softly shutting behind you, you’re nervously wringing your hands out. “you're my best friend.” you blurt out, robe slipping off your shoulder as it is inevitably, too big. as it is obviously andrei’s robe.

he fixes the shoulder so you’re covered again. “I know.”

you continue, heart racing and voice cracking despite andrei’s calm demeanour. “and I thought that these feelings I was pushing down were unreciprocated.”

“I know,” he mumbles, pushing your hair away from your neck. “me too.”

its something in the way he’s touching you—looking at you—that has you faltering. it’s like you’re his. like he’s in—oh.

“and now.” andrei continues.

“and now,” you breathe, “and now I want to kiss you again.”

andrei legs out a laugh. “you can.”

“but not just today,” you interrupt, “I want to kiss you everyday and wake up next to you everyday because I really fucking like you.”

“well,” andrei breathes, chest puffing as he takes an impossible step closer to you. he gently but confidently takes ahold of your face in his hands. caressing you like a porcelain toy. like a prized possession. like the greatest trophy in sports. “I really fucking like you too.”

you exhale.

but he’s not quite done with his love confession. after all, he has been thinking about it since 2018. “and I always have.”

your breath catches, curiously and hope gnawing at you like a moth to a flame. “since the bar?”

“since the second you stepped foot into that bar, y/n.”

a beat passes.

“this is kind of crazy, right? is this crazy?” you laugh in disbelief, continuing to look up at him like he’s hung the stars in the sky.

“absolutely,” andrei nods, thumbs brushing over your cheek bones. “but it's a good crazy. don't you think?”

“definitely.” you mumble through the beginning stages of a sheepish smile. your fingers itch to reach out and touch andrei, and unlike everyday before this one, you allow them to.

“okay then let’s bask in the crazy, yeah?”

A/N: okay. so! this definitely got a little rushed and I can only hopes this flows well enough to follow along with. and hopefully it makes sense and you catch the drift! I went through a writers block through this fic so a lot of the parts were spaced out (writing wise.

on another note—the rom com series is still happening. i’m just not sure when it will be out. i’m hoping for at least one before the summer ends, along with a few other goodies.

jo will girls and wyjo girls, get excited.

anyways this is just to say thank you for your patience and support like always.

[fanged-fanfics]

Can I request headcannons for transformers x gn human reader who said they could hold their whole world in their hands then gently cupping their face?

☆ The World In Your Palm — Transformers x GN Human Reader ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

A/N: Features Optimus, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Starscream, Soundwave, and Megatron

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

Optimus

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Can you now? That's quite the goal"

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He thinks it's another cute little human idea initially. A bit of a naive one maybe, but most earth ideas for "shooting for the stars" always confused him a bit. He also sort of sums it up to a hyperbole and doesn't ask much more about it

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Until you offer to show him. That gets his attention. Humans are capable of incredible feats, yes, but how were you planning to prove such a thing? Much more visibly confused, he leans down like you ask him to

ᯓᡣ𐭩 As soon as your palms cup his cheekplates, he's even more bewildered. After thinking about it for a second, he chuckles, leaning into your touch as he uses a large hand to pull you a little closer. "That's very clever" he says with a smile "looks like I can hold the world in my hand too"

Ratchet

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Uh..huh. Good luck with that"

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Completely doesn't understand the setup. The whole world?? This one? The giant ball in space holding billions of people? What's that supposed to mean? He assumes you're trying to bait him into a joke or something

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Then you ask him to lean down, and he's even more lost. If this is some sort of practical joke you'd learned from others, he wasn't excited for the outcome. But because it's you, he trusts it, bringing his face close enough for you to reach

ᯓᡣ𐭩 When your hands cup his face, he's even more lost. He runs the situation over again in his heads a few times before it actually lands. He acts exasperated to cover up how flustered he is, lightly patting your head. "You humans, I swear... cute trick, kid"

Bumblebee

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Oh yeah? Go ahead, try, I wanna see it"

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He's amused at the idea. He knows you're likely not being literal, but he wants to see where it goes. He's had a lot of fun learning human jokes so far, what's one more to the list?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He leans down as soon as you asked, excited to see the expected punchline. He can't exactly see where it's going yet, but knowing you he hopes for the best and waits expectantly

ᯓᡣ𐭩 When your hands land on his face, he has to take a second to get it. There's a bit of a 'is that... it?' moment where he's still waiting for the joke. Then it clicks all at once, and he gains a very obvious blush on his face. He cups his hands around your head, grinning widely "Well I can hold my whole world in just one hand! Beat that"

Starscream

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Ha! That bold, are you? Is there no end to your feeble little plans?"

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He sounds a little mean about it, but it's just his usual teasing. Sort of in a 'that's nice honey' kind of way. He of course argues that if anyone is fit to carry the world, it would be him, obviously

ᯓᡣ𐭩 It takes some convincing to get him to kneel down. He pretends like he's oh so busy and has so many important things to do, but inevitably gives in and indulges your whims

ᯓᡣ𐭩 The second your hands reach his face, he gets it immediately. He stammered a bit, chuckling as he tried to brush it off. He didn't want it to be so obvious that something so small could fluster him, but he couldn't help it around you. "Ahem- well- you're very brave for being so forward! But I suppose I can allow you to hold on for a moment longer"

Soundwave

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Improbable. The world is too big for human hands"

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Takes your words at direct face value. He's trying to be honest and let you down easy. He's got no idea how you somehow convinced yourself you were strong enough to pull that off, but he feels like he has to bring you back to reality

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He's only confused when you ask him to come closer. What does this have to do with your claim? He leans down of course, but he doesn't understand what's happening

ᯓᡣ𐭩 When your hands hold his face, he just pauses. He's about to correct you, but before the words can fully leave his mouth, he realizes what you're trying to say. He sighs from his vents as he holds onto your wrists. "I see. I.. can hold the world in mine, too"

Megatron

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Aiming big, aren't we? Your time will come"

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He indulges your comment. He's promised you the world, everything his servos can carry. Of course it'll all be yours someday, he'll make sure of it

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He leans down at your request, though he of course asks what you're planning. He can tell by your little grin whenever you've got something brewing in your head, but he allows it for the sake of it

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He catches on the second you hold his face, and he chuckles in amusement. "Ah, that's what you meant" he said, leaning into the embrace "clever... for a human" he teases lightly

[deliwrites]

𝔹𝕒𝕥𝕙 ℍ𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕖 // Huntr/x

// DATE // 26th of June 2025 → 27th of June 2025 // PAIRING // FemHuntr/x!Reader x Baby Saja, Rumi x Jinu, Zoey x Mystery, Abby x Mira x Romance // WARNING // Fluff, suggestive, vulnerability, girlfriends being girlfriends // WORDS // 2.8k+ // SUMMARY // Bonus chapter to Revenge, where Huntr/x finally go to the bath house together! If you have not read Revenge, you should or else this won't make much sense xD

// Main Story //

It was weird being back in Huntr/x tower. I mean permanently. Somehow the public didn’t remember anything of what happened at Namsan tower. The last thing they remember was the public fall out of Huntr/x.

Thankfully that was easily covered up. It became a story of how this was all for show. Me ‘leaving’, them fighting. A publicity stunt to show growth and accepting peoples differences.

This story solidified when we released the song ‘what it sounds like’. People wanted not to like it, but so far it’s been our best selling song. Going Platinum within 12 hours.

We had just come back home from our first comeback performance.

“Food, food, food!” I chant once the front door opened. Mira happily joining me as we skip to the kitchen. The stack of empty ramyeon long gone. Opening the snack drawer, I squeal when I find a new bag of strawberry KitKats. “Yesss.”

“Honest, I don’t know how you eat those,” Rumi says, walking behind me to the fridge.

“Well you just don’t know what heaven tastes like,” I stick my tongue out at her while she smirks playfully. Grabbing a soda, she tosses it at me which I barely manage to catch. Taking three more before closing the fridge. “What so you throw mine, but you’ll be nice to Mira and Zoey?” I ask in mock offense to which she nods with a wide grin.

Walking to Mira she hands her a soda. Mira takes it mumbling a thanks while she continues to stack more snacks into her arms.

“Don’t worry Y/n,” Zoey comes up to me. “I love them just as much as you,” holding up her own bag of the same KitKats. She turns to Rumi, sticking her tongue out at her even more aggressively than I had. A giggle leaving my lips.

Flopping onto the fluffy couch in my bathrobe, I sigh with delight.

“It’s so nice to just sit,” my words dragged out through a contented groan.

“Ah, yeeaaah,” Rumi agrees, sitting down beside me. Leaning against me gently. Leaning my head against hers, we close our eyes, just enjoying the moment of closeness.

Missing the way Zoey and Mira smirk at each other as they too, sit down on couch.

“You know what's an even better place to relax?” Mira ask, my eyes pop open, I meet Mira’s gaze. Content smiles faltering, dreading what the answer will be. Her eyes flick to Zoey, causing me to do the same.

“The bath house!” Zoey announces overjoyed. My head turns just enough for me to look at Rumi. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch both Zoey and Mira sat on the edge of the couch. Looking at us, their eyes shimmering, barely containing their hope and excitement.

Rumi and I had never been. Ever. We were never allowed. I didn’t dare even if I were to go solo.

“I-”

“Rumi, you promised!” Zoey pouts, pointing a finger at her accusingly.

“When did you promise that!?” my confusion loud as I fully pull away to look at my sister. She grimaces awkwardly.

“Of course you had to remember that,” she whines, think it over for a second before sighing in defeat. “I said I would go the day before the International Idol Awards.”

“Ah,” I say and shrug, a smug tugging at my lips. “Well, I didn’t, so-”

“No, you gotta give it a try!” Mira cuts me off, giving me a pointed look.

Taking a deep breath, I sag my shoulders before giving in. “Ugh, fine.”

“Yes!” Zoey fist pumps the air.

Now that the Saja Boys had their own phones. I had called Baby in a panic. With him I never had to think about it. But going to a bath house.

Well shit.

“But- but-,” I started stutter, pacing my room. Eyes scanning my reflection in the windows. “What if- what if they stare?” my voice barely a whisper.

“Darling,” the voice sounded so close. Looking down at my phone the call is still going. What.

I don’t have time to turn around before hands smoothly circle my waist. Baby leaning over my shoulder, biting my mark playfully. “Want me to show you just how gorgeous you are? Hmm?” his voice is sinfully deep. My eyes meet his, he’s devouring me already, with just his gaze. A delightful shiver runs down my spine, nodding.

Walking into the establishment I stayed behind them. Still feeling unsure about it all. Eucalyptus hung in the air. The warmth in just the front room would normally comfort me. But now it only made me more nervous. Rumi seemed a lot more confident about all this. I hoped it her confidence in all this would help, but it didn’t.

Zoey spoke to the woman at the front desk but I didn’t pay much attention. My eyes flicking around the room. The windows are covered in a frosted window film, allowing in just enough natural light to make the white tile floor glow. Like they led straight to heaven.

Instead they lead to my nightmare.

Mentally shaking my head, I focus on something else. The wall to my right has vertical wooden slabs as an accent. Holding white horizontal shelves. The shelves neatly stocked with spa products. Lotions, scrubs and soaps.

“Would you like to add any services today?” the woman asks while Zoey grabs my attention. Placing a bracelet around my wrist which holds a key.

“Not right now, thank you,” Zoey answers politely.

“Alright, the baths and changing rooms are through that door,” she points to our right at a modern dark stained wooden door with a black frame. “Enjoy your stay. If you need anything, press the service bell in any of the rooms or come back to the desk.”

“Gamsahamnida,” with that, Mira and Zoey pull Rumi and me to the door. My heart hammers in my chest. Entering the locker room, there are a couple of other woman there. All seem to be nearly ready to enter the baths. I evade their gaze and focus on finding my locker.

Sipsam

Discomfort rolls over my shoulders. Of course it has to be unlucky number 13. Reluctantly, I open the locker. There’s nothing odd about it, but it doesn’t stop another shiver from running down my spine.

I just stare at the empty locker for a moment, trying to slow down my racing heart.

“Hey, you okay,” Rumi appears beside me, worry lacing her voice. I nod with fake certainty, slipping my jacket off and hanging it on the hook on inside of the locker door. She returns to her own locker and continues undressing.

My eyes locate Zoey who is undressing herself with a sway in her hips like she’s listening to music. Mira on the other hand is struggling with unlacing her boots. The other women don’t seem to be here anymore which allows me to take a breath of relief.

“I can do this,” I mutter quietly to myself, nodding like the motion alone will hold me together. Toeing off my sneakers, I take a seat on the wooden bench behind me. Taking my socks off I stuff them in my shoes before I place them inside the locker.

Finding the hem of my shirt, I pause. I wore Baby’s shirt, it was big hiding my frame underneath. He almost didn’t let me keep it last night. But in the end he did cause he knew it gave me comfort even if it only could up to this point.

Letting go of the hem, I opt for taking off my jeans first. Folding it neatly, taking my time. My eyes land on my patterns. While I luckily wasn’t entire iridescent anymore. Hadn’t since like 3 days after they had taken me and Baby home. The patterns were still there, darker than Rumi’s. They didn’t necessarily make me feel ugly. They just made it seem more like scars. And in some lighting Rumi’s were nearly invisible. Mine felt always on display, even if tried to hide them by wearing long jeans and turtle necks. They always peak out somewhere.

“You nearly ready, Y/n/n,” Zoey asks, startling me.

“Yeah, just go ahead.”

“You sure? We can wait, you know?” Mira’s voice laces with concern.

“Yes, I’m sure, I’ll be right there.”

“Alright, just come find us,” Zoey says. “We’ll be at the baths in room Sam,” soon after the door closes after them and I take a deep breath.

“Come on, Y/n,” I scold myself. Practically ripping Baby’s shirt off of me. I hold it in front of me like it did me dirty. My gaze softens, bringing it to my chest I take a big whiff. Nodding I fold the shirt, placing it on top of my jeans. Then placing the stack on the shelf inside the locker.

Getting up from the bench, I take my panties and bra off quicker than I ever have. Stuffing the items in the locker, I close it.

“Gaja,” I tell myself. My heart doesn’t slow but I go ahead anyway. I keep my eyes focused on head height. My gaze never lowering as I leave the locker room.

I can hear soft murmurs of people conversing with each other as I walk through the hall. The steam engulfing me in warmth. I’m thankful that the numbers are placed at head height. Mumbling the numbers as I pass by them. When I reach room 3, it doesn’t open at first, which confuses me.

“What? But they said room 3,” I mutter, trying again. Panic starts to rise. The murmurs from before feeling like they grow louder. Closing in. I look around me frantically but don’t take anything in. Trying the door again, this time with both hands but it still doesn’t open.

“Y/n?” I jump at the voice, letting go of the door to cover myself up with my hands. “Hey, hey,” the voice is gentle, a hand carefully being placed on my shoulder. Finally realizing it’s Rumi. She doesn’t say anything else, just holds her key in front of a sensor and the door clicks open with a happy chime. Gently, she ushers me into the room, closing the door behind us.

If Zoey and Mira heard the way I came in, they don’t mention it. Not that my eyes focus enough to even realize where they are. Rumi takes me to the showers and tells me to sit down.

It takes a while of Rumi using the shower head to rinse me down for me to actually calm down enough and notice my surroundings.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, staring down at the tile flooring. The tension in my shoulders doesn’t let up and I keep myself small.

“Hey, don’t apologize,” Rumi sit down on the stool next to me. Facing me. “I get it,” my eyes meet hers, searching for that connection.

“I just-“ she shakes her head cutting me off.

“It’s okay, it’s just the four of us in here,” that relaxes me a lot. Zoey had booked us a private room. “Here, I got a new scrub, that’s why I was out in the hall,” she answers a question I was curious about but hadn’t asked. Sitting up straight the two of us take our time, scrubbing down.

“Thank you,” I mumble, squeezing her hand as we get up and walk behind a tiled wall where the bath is located. She just squeezes my hand right back in reassurance.

“There you’re,” Mira says without opening her eyes.

“Sor-“ Rumi pinches my arm to stop me from apologizing again. She gets into the hot water, sinking in to just below our shoulders.

“Ah! Wow, this feels amazing,” a content sigh leaving Rumi’s lips. And I can’t lie, just dipping in my toes has me physically relax.

“We’ve been saying that for years,” Mira drags, smirk playing on her lips.

“Right? See what you’ve been missing?” Zoey's eyes open half lidded. Meeting mine as I still lower myself down, closing my eyes at the warmth. “I didn’t know you were this kinky, Y/n,” her tease causing my eyes to snap right back open. All three of them wearing a smirk. Mira's eyes go from my face to my left shoulder. Following her line of sight, my eyes land on a very dark hickey. Memories of last night flash through my head. I can still feel Baby’s lips all over my body, with watchful sultry eyes. Taking in my body like I was his most prized possession. Complimenting me with every peck, every bite and every hickey.

Making me instantly aware of all the marks scattered across my skin. Covering my chest as best I can with my hands - not that it helped. If anything it showed even more marks. Sinking even lower into the water. A blush covering my cheeks. Guess I should have been more worried about those than my patterns.

“I was nervous-“

“No shit,” Mira cuts me off playfully. I stick my tongue out at her.

“So,” I puff up my shoulders in confidence. “Baby showed me I shouldn’t be ashamed and that I’m gorgeous,” I confess though the blush quickly returns.

“Possessive and sweet? Ugh, disgusting. I love it!” Zoey sighs like she’s thinking of her own relationship with Mystery. And apparently I can read minds now. “Mystery is surprisingly gentle. I bet you get best of both worlds, Mira.”

She says it like it’s the most normal thing in the world, and I blink. When I glance at Rumi, she’s already looking at me - eyebrows raised, same quiet shock mirrored in her expression.

“You could say that,” what is happening? We never talked about this stuff! I guess we had always been too focused on hunting demons to ever consider being in a relationship. “Romance is the possessive one out of the two. Abby is gentle but won’t hesitate to put me in positions I never thought possible,” Mira doesn’t open her eyes, just keeps talking. “So yes, I do get best of both worlds,” a smirk on her lips.

“Question,” Zoey sits up straight. “Is it weird that my mating mark is on the back of my neck? I mean, you guys have yours a lot more visible,” she points at me and Rumi.

“Could be due to the position you guys were in when you two mated,” Rumi shrugs casually. “Mine wasn’t, but Jinu said he wanted it there. He places a kiss there, at least once a day. Multiple if we didn’t see each other for a while,” her fingers gently glide over the holographic bitemark. Located just below her left ear.

“That’s adorable,” Mira sits up, leaning towards me, raising her left hip just out of the water. “This one’s Abby, and Romance has an identical one on my right hip,” she says before relaxing again. “They had apparently had a heated discussion about it the day before. Abby wanted it to be modest and Romance wanted it to be on show. And settled for this cause they can just pinch my hips whenever they wanna tease me.”

“I never asked actually,” I admit, my fingers subconsciously brushing the spot on my right side, where his mark sits - nestled at the curve of my neck and shoulder.

“You tend to touch it a lot,” Rumi points out. “Maybe he did it for you?”

“That would be so sweet,” Zoey adds. “Does it bring you comfort when you touch it?”

“It does,” a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “Though I know he likes it too. He tends to bite it, usually as ‘punishment’. But I’ll ask, cause now I wanna know for sure.”

“Same,” the words drag as Zoey finally relaxes again eyes closing. The room going silent. All of us relaxing like we very much deserved. The only sound our collective breathing. Slow and steady.

“Y/n, I’m so happy you didn’t, like, die,” Zoey’s voice is sudden. Almost startling.

“Wow, Zoey, way to be super literal,” Mira responds monotone. “But same,” a grin tugging at her lips.

“No, we’re not doing that,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “I’m not-” I can’t continue because Zoey’s eyes are glassy. Mira’s biting her cheek like she’s holding herself together by habit. And Rumi… Rumi’s already crying.

“I just… you guys just mean so much to me, and I don’t really know what I’d do without you,” Zoey’s voice cracks, thick with emotions she can’t hold back anymore. The tears come fast, and once they start, there’s no stopping them.

It turns into a messy, breathless ramble — the four of us spilling over each other, saying how much we love each other, how scared we were. I tell them how terrified I was.

Both times.

Until there’s nothing left to say. Just the sound of soft crying, of water shifting as we lean into each other, letting it all fall out. For a moment, we don’t have to be strong. We just have to be together.

[formulafanfics13]

Count for Me - Toto Wolff 🔥

Masterlist

You did it to yourself.

You knew what it meant, rolling your eyes at him like that, snapping back when he told you to be patient, tossing your phone on the bed with just a little too much attitude. It was bratty. Intentional.

You weren't stupid. You were needy.

Toto stood at the end of the bed, arms folded, dark eyes fixed on you like a warning flare. His voice was low. Icy. Lethal. "Try that again."

You shrugged, still sitting in the middle of the bed, chin tilted up. "I'm not in the mood to play nice."

He stepped forward. "You are not here to play."

You should've backed down. But you didn't. Instead, you leaned back on your elbows and smiled, slow, sugar-sweet, provocative.

"Then do something about it, Daddy."

Silence.

Then "Up."

You blinked. "What?"

"Get the fuck up."

You stood.

Barely had your feet under you before he grabbed your arm, turned you around, and bent you over the edge of the bed in one clean, terrifying movement.

"Toto-"

"No."

His hand was already at your lower back, holding you in place. You were trembling. Wet. Thrilled. "You want to be a brat," he said, voice calm now, which was worse, somehow, "then you'll get treated like one."

His other hand smoothed over your ass, slow and heavy. Then paused. "I want you to count."

"Count what-"

CRACK.

The first slap landed sharp and clean. You gasped, knees jolting.

"One," you whimpered.

"Good girl."

Another. Harder.

"Two."

He kept going. Hard, deliberate slaps that echoed off the walls of the suite, heat blooming across your skin with every strike. You moaned into the mattress, hips twitching, hands fisting the sheets.

"Five."

"Six- fuck-"

"Seven- oh my god-"

His hand paused again, warm against your now-throbbing skin. "You can stop now," he said.

You blinked, breathless. "But- you said-"

"I said count. I didn't say I was finished."

And then the belt hit the bed beside you. You moaned.

"You knew what you were doing," he said, dragging the leather strap down the back of your thighs. "Walking around my apartment with no underwear. Sassing me like I won't ruin you."

"I wanted you to."

"Of course you did."

The belt came down. Not harsh. But felt. It sang across your skin with a sharp sting, making you cry out. He didn't rush. Didn't flinch.

This wasn't punishment. It was methodical. By the time he dropped the belt to the floor, your legs were trembling and your cunt was soaked. You whimpered into the sheets. "Please," you whispered.

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me."

"After all that?" he murmured. "You think you deserve it?"

You nodded desperately. "Yes- I'll be good- I swear-"

He bent over your back, breath warm at your ear. "You already are good," he whispered.

Then pushed into you without warning. You screamed. He fucked you hard, deep, brutal. His hands gripped your hips, dragging you back onto him with every thrust. The sting of your skin made the friction worse, better, unbearable. You couldn't stop moaning.

"You're so fucking tight," he groaned. "This little bratty cunt was made for me."

"Only you- only you, Daddy-"

He slapped your ass again mid-thrust and you cried out, nearly coming from the impact alone.

"You think anyone else could handle you?" he growled. "They'd fall apart. You need a man. You need me."

You nodded furiously. "Only you- fuck- only you can make me come-"

"Then come."

You did. Hard. Legs shaking. Body collapsing. Cunt clenching around him so tight he cursed in German, hips stuttering as he came inside you with a low, wrecked groan.

The silence after was thick. You were both panting. Boneless. He pulled out gently, brushing your hair back, untangling the knot at your shoulder where your top had twisted. You blinked, dazed. Then winced as you tried to sit up.

Toto chuckled, dark, warm, almost affectionate. "You won't be sitting comfortably for a week."

You smiled, wrecked. "Worth it."

He leaned down and kissed the back of your neck, whispering into your skin, "You're mine, maus."

"Always."

[solgsts]

squid game season 3 was a waste of incredible characters, talent and plot.

my take on whatever just happened because i can’t keep it in LMAO:

the lack of screen time for gihun and inho was genuinely one of the worst things they could have done; gihun doesn’t know that inho and junho are brothers, inhos backstory, how inho was in the same position as him etc. gihun asked no questions when he had the opportunity, which is so out of character and takes away from the plot completely.

the amount of mischaracterisation. of course, i’m just saying this as a fan, but what they did with daeho made absolutely no sense in general, or for him as a character. while on the topic of daeho, it made no sense for gihun to hunt him down and murder him with his bare hands. gihun’s character has always been against violence, always putting his morals first but fighting back when needed. the attack was so incredibly out of character and unneeded. further, myunggi’s character was completely misconstrued (to clarify, i am anything BUT a myunggi glazer i’ve disliked that ho since s2😭). yes, he was an asshole, but he clearly did not kill just for fun. he made his care for junhee evident throughout s2 and even the beginning of s3, so why the fuck did they decide to take his smaller traits of valuing money and violence so far and make him go batshit crazy? it makes very little sense.

junhee and her baby. why, WHY was the baby the main character? the women were all killed off as soon as possible, the baby was prioritised over the mother; the misogyny isn’t even hidden anymore. gihun was barely even the main character. at this point, it honestly feels like squidgame was to encourage the increase of south korean birthrates????😭

the finalists. why were they a bunch of randoms? there were so many well built characters; hyunju, daeho, namgyu, who could’ve provided a much more in depth and intense fight (like namgyu v minsu) with ACTUAL BACKGROUND. these characters were people none of us cared about, because they were not developed whatsoever!!!!! player 100 somehow made it all the way through by being a man and a cunt, hyunju deserved better.

hwang brothers. “Hyung… why?!” that’s fucking it. that’s IT. junho acquired a fucking baby and some new yaoi but didn’t even get to talk to his brother after searching for so long? their relationship didn’t get developed at all this season and it just feels so out of place.

noeul’s storyline. i like her, and i believe she could’ve been a good character, so why did they introduce a side plot that has absolutely NO relevance to anything else? like yeah, it was cute, he got out and saved his daughter, but WHY DID IT HAPPEN??? THERE IS NO EXPLANATION OR BUILDING ON IT!!!

the queer baiting media.

thank you if you read my rant. 💗

+++ namgyu was honestly funny as fuck (though i feel like he was mischaracterised a bit too), but WHYYYY was his death so bleak and just BRUSHED OFF like that💔💔💔

[hockeyxoxo]

hello hello!! i'm actually obsessed with ur brunch theme && welcome back <3

i'd like to request pancakes with raspberries && whipped cream!!

Event Homepage

Warnings/contains: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, use of "good/pretty girl" and "baby", praise kink, a bit of cursing, stressed/tired!reader, creampie.

WC: 586

An: It is once again 3 am at the time im writing this, but I had so mucb fun writing this one hopefully its okay. I forgot how to write after taking a 2 year break forgive me. NOT PROOF READ.

Order: Quinn hughes x Praise kink x Creampie

Everything was against you today. The barista got your coffee order wrong this morning, and you were running so late that you couldn't wait for the replacement drink. To add on top of that your boss was just being a bitch today.

By the time you got home your patience was already hanging by a thin thread. You kick off your work heels and threw your bag on the couch before following it's path, laying face first on the couch too exhaust to move.

You finally had the energy to turn on the tv to watch your boyfriend's hockey highlights from tonight.

Quinn was ecstatic to be able to go home early as the game passed by relatively fast. But as soon as he opened the front door to your shared apartment he knew something was wrong. The lights were dim, he couldnt smell the candle you usually light when you get home. As he was analyzing everything he saw you laying on the couch, lookinf tired as ever but still watching the hockey highlights of tonights game on the tv.

He dropped his bag next to the door and took off his shoe before walking straight over to you.

"Baby, you look tired." He kneel down next to your face and brush the hair out of his face. He looked at you concerned for your state. Quinn picked you up at sat you up like you weighed nothing.

"I'm fine" You push his hand away being stubborn.

"Let me take care of you." One of his hand hold your chin to maintain eye contact and the other rubbing your inner thigh igniting a fire in your abdomen. You whimpered in response and that was all the conformation he needed before kisses you. The kiss was soft and slow but somehow that got you wanting more. You reach for his belt as he hover over you trapping you against the couch. You both undressed yourself as the kiss deepens.

Somehow he ended up on top of you on the couch. He trail kisses from your neck down to your collarbone.

"My pretty girl" He whispered against your shoulder before leaving on last kiss.

He was already hard the second your lips met his. He lined himself up with your entrance,

"Ready baby?" He looked at your eyes for confrontation.

"Yes" You barely managed to say but it still came out breathy almost a whine. He slowly pushed his cock in you inch by inch. Praises under his breath with each inch you take.

"You're doing so good for me"

"You feel so good baby"

"Taking me like a good girl"

"You're too good to me baby"

It didn't take long before you feel the knot forming in your stomach. You were close, and of course Quinn could feel it. He knows your body like the back of his hand, he notice everything. He was getting to his high himself when you squeezed him tighter and tighter, trying to push him out.

"Come with me, baby" You snapped as soon as he said it. He came right after you painting your insides the prettiest shade of white. He stayed inside of you for a while after before pulling out and grabbing a towel to clean you up with. Quinn wipe down your body as he continues to praise you.

"You did so good, baby"

"I'm so lucky to have you"

"My pretty girl"

"You were prefect"

"This is exactly where you belong, with me, in my arms."

[quackmiffy]

hwyyy i was wondering if u could do something revolving 2019 quackity? anything that comes to mind is good. thank u!

kisses with 2019!alex

you couldn’t stop looking at him. the two of you sat on the roof of his home, the sun setting into a mix of pink and orange in the heart of México. people bustled all around the two of you, the laughter of teen girls experiencing their first night out, the sound of lighters flicking and beers clinking.

your eyes flickered back to alex, tracing over the slope of his nose, the freckles that dotted his skin, even the way his lips curved into a smile as he turned to face you. your heart stutters in your chest.

“what’re you staring at?”

he has a slight lisp from his retainer. it makes your cheeks lift into a small grin, and your knee nudges his with a soft shrug of your shoulders.

“nothing, just… thinking.”

“of what? me?”

he was teasing, but he was right. he knew it, too. you could tell in how his eyes raked over your form, his butt scooting closer to yours on the slab of concrete the two of you were perched on. he maintains eye contact, and you hold it with bated breath.

“not you, specifically,” you mumble, eyes flicking down to his lips.

“so me, metaphorically?”

“yeah…”

alex is quiet, brown eyes all bambi like and doe eyed. he stares at you for what feels like hours, but you know it’s barely been a minute.

and then he’s crashing into you like he’s yours, like you’re his, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. it is, you were meant to be, it was always going to turn out this way.

your squeak of surprise is dulled by his clumsy kiss, lips slotting against yours in a shy yet purposeful way. you kiss back easily, panting against his mouth as the two of you part—connected by a string of spit from your pairs of pink, swollen lips.

“y-you kissed me!”

his nod is quick, his smile is genuine. his eyes are warm and he bumps your shoulder with his.

“you liked it, right?” you could hear the uncertainty in his voice, and it reminds you of how boyish he was.

he was your boy. not yet a man, but he was yours nonetheless.

“‘course i liked it.”

“good. ‘cause i’m gonna do it again,” and he’s grabbing your face in his palms and kissing you senselessly.

the pink and orange of the sky fades into a milky, cloudy darkness. the stars beam down, little offshoots of sparkle igniting your hearts and shining down on the crowns of your heads.

you pull alex closer, if that was even possible. the two of you had somehow blended and become one, and you knew you couldn’t dare to part from your other half.

“do you love me?”

you’re singing his praises, a soft ‘yes,’ pleaded over and over against his lips.

[mister0ctopus]

We Are All Sinners 07

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader

Summary:  You left Jungkook and this town behind, but every visit pulls you back into his arms, chasing a high you can never leave behind.

Ratings: 18+ ONLY!!! MDNI!

‼️CHAPTER WARNINGS ‼️

This chapter contains sensitive and potentially triggering themes including grief, loss, miscarriage, mentions of unhealthy family dynamics, implied death (non-major character).

Please read with care. Your well-being comes first.

Word Count: 8.4K

SERIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

ex·o·dus [ˈeksədəs] noun a mass departure of people, leaving a place or situation

THEN

“Hey, you sure you’re good to close? I’m so sorry for dipping early again. Husband got called in early for work, and I just can’t afford a nanny right now… I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Jada, the school librarian you’d been working with, gave you an apologetic smile as she slid the last book into place.

“Yes, oh my god, go! Go spend time with your family. Leave me alone!”

You swatted at her jokingly as you turned back to your laptop.

Working in the school library had its perks.

Free Wifi. Quiet corners. And best of all, getting paid to do homework.

You and Jungkook were graduating this year, and things had started to feel like a blur.

“I haven’t seen Jungkook around lately. You guys okay?” Jada asked it casually, zipping up her bag. But you knew she meant it.

You glanced at your phone again. No notifications.

Not unusual, and definitely not new.

The last message was before his first class, and it’s already 7pm. 

A long paragraph, all about his day.

A rundown of their late-night session in the studio, his dad’s latest scan, what he ate (just ramen, while reminding you not to skip a meal), and the fact that he nearly passed out during class. 

A lot has happened in the past months.

His dad being diagnosed with late-stage cancer definitely changed everything.

Lately, you felt more like his diary.

He talked to you when you were asleep.

Your classes were in the morning, his in the afternoon.

After that, he’d head straight to either band practice or a studio session, then rush to the hospital to stay with his dad at night. He and Jin took turns, depending on the day, so their mom could catch up on sleep somehow.

Then he’d crash into bed in the morning, barely catching a few hours of sleep before doing it all over again.

The last time you saw him was four days ago, and it was brief. He walked you to the library, gave you a quick kiss, and then sprinted off to his next class.

You realized you haven’t answered her, and she’s still waiting for a response.

“Yeah… we’re good. You know, he’s super busy.” You sighed and locked your screen, trying not to overthink and worry too much.

“Yeah, his dad, I heard… how’s he holding up?”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully.

“He’s doing well… considering. The cancer’s spreading to the lower parts now, so he needs more help.”

You remembered the last time you visited – it was painful, seeing the man you were used to seeing strong and full of life now looking frail in a hospital gown.

Jesus,” Jada muttered, pausing mid-zip as her expression crumpled. “How is Jungkook even functioning? I mean, classes, the band, hospital duty…does he even sleep?”

“I know…” You swallowed, voice quiet. “He’s trying his best, and he always tells me not to worry, but…”

Jada gave you a look. “Of course you’re going to worry. You think I haven’t noticed you check your phone like a hundred times in the last five minutes?”

You sighed, finally leaning back in your chair. “I really try not to. I just… I’m trying not to look like I worry too much. Because you know how he is, he’s going to feel guilty or burdened or– ” You stopped, pressing your lips together. “I don’t know. I just want to help him... I just don’t know how.”

“I think just being there for him is helping,” She said softly. “You’re allowed to feel this way, you know? Your feelings are valid too. And the best thing you can do for him is to take care of yourself. Him seeing you well… that probably gives him more comfort than you realize.”

You hadn’t noticed how tense your shoulders were until she reached over and gave them a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah…” You exhaled. “Thanks, Jada. That really means a lot.”

“Now go,” you said, giving her a playful tap. “Your husband’s gonna be late for work again if he has to wait much longer for you to get home.”

“He’ll survive! Should’ve thought twice about putting a baby in me in this economy!” she laughed, leaning in to kiss your cheek before leaving you with a soft smile.

“Take it easy, okay?”

You nodded.

It helped, having someone to talk to.

You hadn’t realized how much you needed it.

Ever since Jungkook’s dad was diagnosed, you hadn’t really let yourself vent to anyone. There was Jimin, who shared the same sentiments as you, so it helped to hear things from someone a little outside the circle.

You glanced at your phone one more time, though you already knew it was on loud, and it hadn’t buzzed.

Then you turned back to your laptop, willing your thoughts to settle.

The library was empty now.

Silent. 

You’d just switched off the main lights, leaving only the soft amber glow near the entrance door as you zipped up your bag.

A glance at your phone said it was just past 8pm.

At this hour, Jungkook was probably buried in practice, or at the studio, or– if the universe had a shred of mercy– napping.

You had texted him all day. Like you always did.

Little updates.

All unread.

You sighed, slinging your bag over your shoulder and stepping outside, ready to crash into bed as soon as you got home.

You’d been exhausted and sleepy lately, and you were praying it wasn’t the flu coming down on you, especially with exams just around the corner, right before semestral break.

You startled slightly when you realized it had been raining, the pavement glistening with puddles.

Great.

You hadn’t noticed. The library was practically soundproof.

You really hated the rain.

Which was ironic, considering you moved to a town where it rained half the year.

And, yes, of course you forgot your umbrella. Again.

What now?

Back to the library and wait it out?

Or just say “fuck it” and walk home? But your laptop in your bag, and who the hell was that beautiful man running toward you?

You squinted.

Oh. 

That..

…was your boyfriend…

Running toward you, breath fogging in the cold air, black hoodie already damp, carrying a massive red umbrella.

“Jungkook?!” You blinked, stunned. “Why? What are you--?”

“Knew it!” he shouted through the rain, grinning as he pushed back his wet hair. “You didn’t bring one.”

He stepped right up to you and swung the umbrella overhead.

Your mouth fell open. “You’re supposed to be in the studio! Or sleeping? Why are you here—”

So warm. 

He was so warm.

And his lips were soft and plush and sweet against yours.

You kissed him back, hungry and eager and messy.

“You didn’t answer me,” you mumbled against his chest after the kiss, pouting.

“I just did,” he grinned.

“You didn’t, you just kissed me.”

“Yeah.” He smirked. “I’m here for that.”

You smacked his chest, but couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. Then you wrapped your arms around him, tight. So tight he let out a soft “oh”, before squeezing you back like he was trying to merge your bodies into one.

“Where were you before coming here?” you asked, voice muffled against his hoodie. 

“Studio,” he replied with a grin. “We were almost done when it rained.”

“You didn’t have to come all the way here, Kook.”

“It was raining.”

“So?”

“So of course I had to come get you. No way I’m letting you walk home soaked.” He chuckled, kissing your head again. “Plus, I really, really needed to see you. I needed this.”

Another kiss, more tongue on throat, hips grinding, hands on your ass kind of kiss, but you weren’t complaining.

You finally pulled back, and he reached for your bag without a word, slinging it over his arm before wrapping the other around your shoulder.

You walked side by side through the rain, tucked under the oversized umbrella and suddenly, the rain didn't matter anymore.

The yellow street lights reflected his beautiful face, and though it was dim, you could see it: the exhaustion in his eyes. The dark circles. The way he blinked a little too slow, like even now, his body was fighting to stay upright.

“Baby…” you said quietly. “When was the last time you actually slept?”

“I slept last night,” he said quickly. “I’m fine, babe. Don’t worry about me.”

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat. “You know you don’t have to pretend you’re ok with me all the time, right? Ever since your dad’s diagnosis, you’ve been… non-stop. Of course I worry about you. Sue me.”

He was quiet for a moment, then gave you a small nod. “I’m managing, I swear. Just… take care of yourself for me, okay? While I can’t. Not the way I used to.”

That – that right there – made your chest ache.

Even now, with everything he’s holding, everything he’s going through, he’s worried about you.

“Jungkook,” you said, stopping in your tracks. “That’s your concern right now? That you can’t take care of me while you’re going through a lot?”

He blinked, then gave you a soft, sheepish grin. “Hey… babe. Don’t be mad, yeah?”

“I’m not mad?”

“You’re getting upset,” he said, gently tapping your forehead. “This spot right here always gives you away.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Well,” he continued, “how about we agree it’s impossible not to worry about each other? I worry about you, and you feel bad. You worry about me, and I feel bad. Vicious cycle, huh?”

You cracked a smile. “Okay, fine. Okay! Just… promise me you’ll tell me when it gets too much. I’ll bring an umbrella every single day so you don’t worry when it rains. And sleep when you can.”

“Yes, ma’am. I promise,” he said with a smug grin.

You reached your dorm after a few more steps under the rain. You were ready to pull him into one last tight hug before he rushed off to the hospital again.

But the moment you stepped inside, he was already kicking off his shoes and tugging off his damp hoodie in one smooth motion.

You opened your mouth to ask if he was staying, maybe just for a few minutes, but he turned, eyes gleaming, and pulled you straight toward the bed.

“Jungkook–what are you doing?” you squeaked, laughing as you stumbled forward.

“I really, really, really need to do this,” he murmured, grinning as he fell back on the mattress and dragged you with him.

You landed on top of him with a surprised yelp, hands on his chest, your knees bracketing his hips– then his mouth was on your neck.

Fuck, it had been too long.

You couldn’t help the soft moan that slipped out, until you remembered his tired eyes, the deep shadows under his lashes. 

“Jungkook…” You brushed your fingers through his hair. “You staying for a bit?”

“Uh-huh. I’ve got two hours. Mom’s with Dad,” he mumbled as he flipped you over effortlessly. In a blink, he was hovering above you, his eyes tired, but hungry.

“Then maybe you should be resting instead of doing this,” you said, breathless but trying to sound stern.

His eyes fluttered open, and that handsome smirk curved his lips. “Babe, I told you, I’m fine. I’ll show you.”

You bit your lip. “Show me how?”

He chuckled low, fingers ghosting over your waistband.

“Why don’t you spread those pretty legs for me and find out?”

You snorted, raising a brow. “Aren’t you too tired for that?”

“I’m never too tired for that.”

“Jungkook…”

“YN.”

He matched your tone, unbothered.

You sighed, brushing your fingers through his damp hair.

“We don’t have to do anything,” you murmured, softer now. “You should rest.”

“I know,” he whispered, brushing his nose against your neck. 

“But I really, really wanna taste you again,” he added. “I miss your taste on my tongue.”

“You’re crazy!” 

“Baby… you have no idea. Pussy that tastes like that? Who wouldn’t be?”

You let out a breathy laugh, but it caught somewhere in your throat because his fingertips were already slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.

God, you missed him. But as much as you missed his touch, you couldn’t ignore how tired he looked. How sleep-starved he was.

So you reached up, cupped his jaw, and kissed him softly. 

“Baby, I missed you so much. I know it’s been a while… but I also know how exhausted you are. Please, just rest. Take a nap with me? I’m sleepy too.”

Your thumb brushed over his cheek.

“Please… rest? Just for a little while.”

You leaned in and kissed his forehead, and he let out a shaky breath against your collarbone.

“Yeah,” he mumbled and buried his face in your neck, arms wrapping around you.

“Sleep, baby,” you whispered, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Need you to sleep.”

Within the next minute, you felt his weight soften beside you. You drifted off soon after.

When you woke up, it was to the soft press of his lips kissing all over your face, a silent goodbye before he headed out to repeat another busy day.

You had already decided to skip class today.

Actually, not decided.

More like… surrendered to the exhaustion.

You’d been tired.

Nauseous.

Throwing up for a week now.

You hated a lot of things about yourself.

And you hated that you hated so many things about yourself.

But what you hated most was how indecisive you could be.

Like you’d rather be forced to choose between two things than be handed ten.

And right now, you were standing in front of a wall of pregnancy test kits, unsure whether to get the digital or the analog.

A decision that shouldn’t have taken twenty minutes.

You had opened another Google tab on your phone to read more about pregnancy kits, closing the one about early signs and symptoms.

You took two analogs – just to be sure – and marched toward the cashier.

You just wanted to go home and rest.

At first, you thought it was the flu.

But then you missed your period. 

Then another week passed. Now your brain won’t stop spinning, someone nearby smells like citrus, and it’s making you nauseous. The tag of your shirt scratches at the back of your neck, and everything feels too hot and too loud. 

When you got home, you kicked off your shoes, stripped off your clothes, and headed straight to the bathroom.

You tore the boxes open with trembling hands.

You had read the instructions twice. Maybe three times. Didn’t matter.

You knew what to do.

You just didn’t know what you’d do after.

You peed.

You waited.

One minute. 

Two…

Too long.

And then –

Two pink lines.

You stared at them like they might change if you blinked long enough.

Like if you tilted them just right under the bathroom light, one of the lines might fade.

Disappear. 

Undo itself.

But it didn’t.

You sat on the toilet, underwear around one ankle, heart pounding against your ribs.

Two fucking lines.

Oh my god.

Your mouth went dry.

You wanted to cry, but for some reason you just sat there, arms wrapped around yourself, cold tile biting into your skin.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that.

Long enough for your hand to start shaking.

Then your leg.

Then all of you.

At some point, you slid down onto the floor, curled sideways on the cold, chipped bathroom tiles of the dorm, eyes fixed on the only thing moving –  

A single line of ants, crawling out from a crack in the wall, toward the window, carrying the body of a moth.

Wings torn, but still beautiful.

And you wanted to think that the ants found the moth and carried it to its final destination, where it would be laid to rest in peace.

But you know the moth serves a purpose even in death. That its body will be broken down, piece by piece, fed to something else.

Not all losses are mourned.

Some are simply repurposed.

And you cried at the thought that you were thinking about the dead moth on your bathroom floor. You’re pregnant, and you’re crying about a dead moth.

“I’m only telling you this because someone has to knock sense into you!!!”

…Huh?

“He’ll trap you in this town, don’t you see that?”

“Throwing your life away for a boy!”

“Waste every ounce of potential you have!”

“What a waste!”

“Waste!!!”

Your mother’s voice lingered,

Louder and louder right in your ear.

“--in this godforsaken town!!!”

You jerked awake, chest heaving.

Confused and disoriented, you opened your eyes and tried to gain consciousness. 

Only to realize you couldn’t move.

Something heavy. No – someone.

Sprawled across your chest.

What the hell is going on?

Oh right…

You had fallen asleep on the bathroom floor and woken up cold, then dragged yourself to bed after texting Jungkook that you had skipped class.

At some point, he must’ve let himself into your dorm. He had probably come straight from the hospital, dragged himself through lectures, then crawled here.

The band had been working so hard ever since they started gaining more recognition and attention, with their late-night studio sessions and out-of-town gigs – on top of his duties for his dad, so maybe this was the first real sleep he had gotten this week.

You watched him, eyes tracing over features you knew by heart: the thick lashes, that tiny scar from a childhood fight with Jin, the mole under his lip. His arm was slung over your waist, clinging like he always did...

You noticed the tattoos that had accumulated slowly – some born out of impulse he now regrets, and some from visions he had as a teen. You loved them all so dearly. You ran your fingertips lightly over the ink. He twitched but didn’t wake.

You smiled. He looked so peaceful.

And God... you wondered – if the child you’re carrying will look like him.

Will it have his nose? His lips? That warmth in his eyes?

Will it inherit his loving nature, his loyalty, his selflessness, his ridiculous laugh?

You wanted to tell him.

Should you tell him now?

But before you could do anything, his eyes fluttered open – and he was staring right back at you.

“Hi,” he said, voice low from sleep.

“Hi.” you croaked.

“Why’d you skip class?”

You shrugged, trying not to fidget. “Just tired.”

He frowned and reached over, placing the back of his hand on your forehead. It was warm – his hand, not you.

“Are you sick?” 

You shook your head. “No… I’m not.”

God, you wanted to tell him. 

But what did you even feel?

You hadn’t had a second to sit still, to process any of this.

You were still trying to push the fear down.

Shove it somewhere dark and quiet.

You were terrified. Of everything.

And your mother’s voice was still ringing in your ears.

But he was sitting in front of you now, and you didn’t know how to hand him this, too.

“Alright,” he sighed, straightening his back. “Then you need to rest more. But we gotta eat first. You can’t sleep on an empty stomach, deal?”

He was already opening the food app on his phone.

“Are you… leaving soon?” you asked gently.

“Yeah, love…” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you something. Just… everything’s been so hectic.”

Your whole body went still.

“What’s going on?”

He exhaled slowly, sitting up straighter.

You already knew it was bad.

“Dad’s scans came back. It’s worse than before. The doctors walked us through options but… they said the chances of recovery are really low at this point. So… we have to prepare. For the worst.”

Your heart sank. 

“Baby…” You reach for his hand, your fingers curling over his.

He swallowed hard. 

“Mom’s still holding onto hope, and Jin and I... we’re pretending like we are too. But watching him go through it, the pain, the exhaustion… it’s killing us.”

His voice faltered. He tried to keep going.

“We decided on chemo. It’s aggressive. Expensive. But we’ll figure it out. Jin’s job helps. The gigs, too. We’ve just… cut back on some things, sacrificed a few things. We’re selling mom’s car, which is fine. It’s just –” 

He exhaled shakily.

“It’s hard. Seeing him like that. Hooked up to machines, barely talking. I’m used to him being strong, you know? Always laughing, joking…now he can’t even stand, can’t even use the toilet by himself. I don’t know how to be okay with that.”

You squeeze his hand gently, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. Maybe to calm him, or yourself.

“I’m so sorry, Kook… I know you’re trying to be strong for everyone, but you don’t have to carry it alone.”

He didn’t respond. But his grip tightened just slightly. So you kept going.

“Whatever happens, whatever you need… I’m here. Even if I don’t always know the right thing to say, I’m here.”

He leaned into you then, arms wrapping around you. You hugged him back just as tightly, and your heart broke with how hard he clung.

And then, he stilled.

His breath shuddered against your neck.

And you felt it, the damp warmth soaking into your skin, his uneven breathing, the quiet tremble in his shoulders.

So you held him, and let him fall apart in your arms.

“It’s okay, baby,” you murmured. “Let it out. Everything’s going to be okay.”

You glanced at the clock. He’d have to leave again soon. Back to his responsibilities. 

There would be another time to tell him. 

Not tonight.

So for now, you just held him.

And that had to be enough.

The bus ride from your dorm to your mom’s house felt surprisingly short.

Maybe because your thoughts were running faster than the bus.

Or maybe it was your mind spinning with one hundred and one questions, wondering if there would be any telltale signs that you were pregnant, besides the throwing up and the constant sleepiness.

Your mom wasn’t going to be able to tell, right?

Until you decided what to do, it was best that no one knew.

Normally, you would spend the semester break at her house, even though you usually just stayed holed up in your room the entire time. Still, it was a routine.

When you were younger, you used to go on road trips and camping with Jungkook, Jimin, and friends, but a lot has changed since then.

Your mom’s words played in your head like a curse you couldn’t shake, and you weren’t ready to face her.

Your fingers tightened around the folded papers tucked into your hoodie pocket, the ones you had picked up from the OB-GYN clinic a few days ago. They were crumpled now from being opened and closed so many times.

Pamphlets about what to expect over the next nine months: milestones, symptoms, what foods to avoid, what vitamins to take, check-ups.

If you chose that path.

You hadn’t told Jungkook yet.

And it wasn’t because you didn’t trust him. That was the thing—you did.

You trusted him so much, and that was exactly what made it harder. He was already shouldering too much, and you knew he’d drop everything for you.

He was already giving so much – to his dad, to his dreams, to you. How could you hand him this, too?

You weren’t trying to keep it from him forever… just… not now.

But one thing was certain: You weren’t ready for this.

If you went through with it, everything would change.

You’d have to stop school. Press pause on your dreams. Stay home for the baby.

Jungkook, of course, being Jungkook, would take care of you. He would graduate just as the baby arrived, and you already knew what he’d do next – work himself into the ground to take care of you. Of the baby. Of everything.

Because that’s who he is. 

You remembered the nights you dreamed about raising a family with him – how he used to say he wanted to give you the world.

But how could he give you the world when you were both still trying to survive it?

Still in college.

Still stretched thin.

Still learning how to take care of yourselves, let alone someone else.

What if choosing not to be a mother right now was the most motherly decision you could make?

What if the only way to protect the both of you… was to not bring a child into a life built on sacrifice and survival?

And worst of all, what if your mother was right?

You hated her for saying it.

You hated yourself for starting to think she might be right.

You pressed a hand to your belly, unsure if you were seeking comfort or apology.

A text from Jungkook paused your racing thoughts. Just a quick rundown of his day, and an apology for not being able to drive you to your mom’s. They were out of town for two days to play at a music festival, the one they’d been preparing for weeks.

You assured him that everything was fine.

And it was clear now how much his dad’s condition was taking a toll, not just on Jungkook, but on everyone. With hospital bills piling up, the band had been accepting every offer that came in.

Even if it meant going out of town more often. Even if it meant spending nights in the studio, hours and hours at a time, chasing deadlines and checks.

But somehow, he was still showing up for everything.

For you.

And even if it was only a few hours, he spent it holding you close.

And you were scared. Scared of what the future held.

“Have you been doing well at school? I take it you’ll graduate this year?” your mother asked, her tone as neutral as ever.

“Yes, hopefully,” you answered.

“I hope so too. Your father’s been calling me non-stop about your internship right after your graduation. Why don’t you give him a call and talk to him about that?”

You nodded and just said, “Okay, Mom.”

“It’s nice that you finally decided to come home for your break,” she said, not even trying to hide the bitterness in her voice.

“I was starting to think you’d officially moved in with that boy. Following him around like some groupie while he wastes time on those silly gigs. What, does he actually believe he’s gonna make a living off that noise?”

She scoffed and set her fork down with a loud clink.

You bit your tongue and clenched your jaw.

“You don’t even visit me on weekends anymore. I guess that’s what love looks like to you now, skipping your own mother for some tattooed dropout waiting to happen.”

“He’s actually doing well in school,” you said flatly, not looking up. “On top of making music and doing gigs. Their band’s doing great, too. It’s actually pretty impressive.”

Your voice was calm. Bored, almost. She thrived on reaction, and you weren’t going to give her the satisfaction.

Then, without much change in tone, like she was commenting on the weather – 

“Did you gain weight? You need to watch out for your figure before you work with your father,” she said casually.

“You need to show everyone from that family that you deserve that place in the company, better than your cousins. Make yourself presentable all the time.”

“Didn’t know my weight had anything to do with my competence or skills,” you replied evenly.

“It doesn’t,” she shrugged. “But you know how your father’s sisters are, vicious bitches, all of them. And I won’t be there for you this time. So if you show up looking tired like that, bloated, sloppy, don’t come crying to me when they start whispering about you.”

She set her fork down and leaned back, like she was waiting for you to react. 

“You think they care how smart you are? No. They’re looking for flaws. Don’t give them one.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t react.

It was a moot point. You were used to her by now, but god, she always knew how to make you feel like killing yourself, and you were already starting to feel drowsy, your body begging for rest.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long before you both finished your food. 

After cleaning up, you went straight to bed and changed into your comfiest pajamas, scrolling through your phone, reading Jungkook’s texts. Photos from soundcheck. Backstage stolen shots. Clips of the band playing to a massive crowd at the music fest.

He looked so happy. They looked happy.

You sent him a quick selfie from bed, skin dewy and glowing in all your skincare glory – and he Facetimed you right away. 

“I miss you,” he said before the call even connected properly, voice a little breathless, like he’d run to a quieter corner just to call you, though it was hard to hear with all the background noise. 

He was smacking Jimin, who kept trying to squeeze into the frame and god, you missed them so much. You wanted to tell him everything, about so many things, but it was too damn noisy and his reception was crap.

So you both gave up on talking, and just spent the next ten minutes smiling at each other in silence – him munching on snacks, you blinking through sleep, barely keeping your eyes open.

Eventually, your phone slipped from your hand as you surrendered to sleep.

Pain.

Pain woke you.

Sharp.

Like something tearing inside.

You sat up, heart in your throat, and that’s when you saw it –

blood.

It soaked through your underwear. Streaked your thighs. Spotted the sheets.

You bolted to the bathroom, breathing too fast.

You pulled your shorts down, and your ears were ringing and your chest was pounding and you saw more blood. Too much red.

You were shaking. You didn’t know who to call. 

What do you do?

So you cried. Biting your knuckles just to keep from screaming. You reached for a towel, trying to wipe the blood that kept coming.

But it wouldn’t stop.

And the pain, oh the pain, like your insides were being wrung out, and you hadn’t felt anything like it before.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

You folded onto the floor, pressed your back to the wall, knees to your chest as you sobbed.

That’s where your mother found you.

She stood in the doorway. She didn’t say anything, but she stood there just looking at you.

“We’re going to the hospital.”

Cold stirrups.

Bright lights.

Nurses talking like you weren’t in the room.

The ultrasound screen turned away.

The doctor tried to speak gently – "It’s a miscarriage..."

And you couldn’t hear a word past that first sentence.

You blinked, the doctor’s mouth still moving, but everything was just muffled noise.

You weren’t sure how long you cried after that, or if you even cried at all. It didn’t make sense.

Because how could something you barely felt… just disappear? 

You kept waiting to feel something – grief? Pain? Maybe even relief?

But all you felt was the void.

Was it even real? Did it really happen?

Maybe it didn’t feel wanted. Maybe that’s why it left.

You didn’t know what to grieve. You didn’t know what you lost.

But why did it feel like you lost a whole chunk of yourself, like your body remembers something your mind can’t make sense of?

You told your mother through broken sobs that you knew you were pregnant. 

She just stared at you with confusion and slight disgust, like she couldn’t comprehend a word you were saying.

You were given medication to help with the pain, and you wished it was something that could make you sleep forever.

You woke up, unfortunately, hours later.

The room was dim, and the pain was still there.

And your mother, sitting by the window reading her subscription magazine, not even looking at you when she said:

“Well. At least it’s gone now. The universe removed it for you, good lord.”

And you felt it, like a dam being cracked open, the rage bleeding out of your mouth. And you closed your eyes for a second, as you felt like your head was going to burst in anger.

“How could you say that?! It wasn’t some thing – it was mine! It was a part of me! You are so mean, and vile!I hate you!!!”

She didn’t flinch. Just crossed her arms and turned to face you with that cold, condescending look you knew too well.

“You’d look back one day and thank the gods this happened. That thing would have ruined your life just like I warned you,” she spat, her eyes nothing but disgust. 

And you were so angry that you were shaking, but she kept going.

“Use your brain for once and think about what was going to happen. You’d drop out of school, raise a baby on what? Hope? You thought love paid the bills? You thought Jungkook’s little hobby was going to keep food on your table? Grow up.”

Through gritted teeth, you yelled, “Shut up! Stop saying that! He is doing great! We were going to graduate, and – ”

“You’d been playing house with that boy, and I let you because I thought you’d come to your senses and grow out of it, thinking you’ll leave him after college anyway. But no. You really went and proved how reckless and selfish you are. You thought life was all about love and romance and dreams? I had bled and scraped and clawed to give you a better life, and this – this is what you do with it? Throw it away for some boy? And where is he now, huh? Where?”

Defeated, and feeling weak, you sobbed.

“Stupid girl. One day, when you’re older, broke, and exhausted, you'll remember this moment, and you will be thankful that this happened.”

You had imagined your graduation day so many times.

It always felt like the light at the end of a long, brutal tunnel. Like hope.

A gleaming exit.

When home felt like hell, this was the moment you clung to.

This was the plan: survive college under her roof, then work for your dad, move out, and finally live the life you always wanted.

You were supposed to feel relief.

But now, you were lying awake in your bed on your last night in this town, staring at the ceiling for what felt like eternity, as your entire world quietly caved in on itself.

Your graduation cap sat proudly on your desk like a trophy. 

Across the room, your new and expensive luggage – pink and purple, bought with your dad’s money – zipped and ready.

You broke up with Jungkook this morning. Right after graduation.

It was quick. 

After all, you had practiced the speech for weeks – rehearsed every word until you memorized every word and intonation. 

You just said it wasn’t going to work. 

Not with him staying in this town.

And you…

Well, you were never meant to stay here anyway.

You didn’t cry, in front of him at least. 

No matter how much he pressed. How he begged.

How his voice cracked, how his hands trembled, how his eyes searched your face like he could find a different answer hidden there. 

You walked out of his dorm with your head held high, back straight. Chin up.

Just like you practiced.

You hadn’t told him about the miscarriage.

You wanted to. God, you imagined it a hundred different ways.

But there was never a right time.

First, his dad got worse.

You watched him juggle school, rehearsals, and hospital visits, hope thinning out a little more each day. And just when you thought you’d finally tell him, thinking ‘what the heck, this is Jungkook, the love of your life’ – his dad died.

And if there was one thing you never truly understood — because you had never experienced it— it was the love that came from family, and the depth of grief that followed when they were gone.

For months, the whole family sank into a deep, consuming grief.

So you didn’t tell him.

His grief made him quiet. Yours made you quieter.

You mourned separately. 

You stood by him. Held space for his pain. But no one stood by you. 

But you couldn't blame anyone, because how could you?

You made the choice, and it was all on you.

You didn’t even know if you were allowed to call it grief, or if you were even allowed to call it your child. All you knew was that something inside you was gone, and you never told him. And now, that silence felt like betrayal.

And after enough silence, you convinced yourself maybe he was never meant to know.

It was taken from you too early, anyway.

You fell asleep hugging yourself. 

And you woke to a knocking on your bedroom window.

Jungkook stood there, glowing as he bathed in moonlight, grinning wide. His eyes were wide and glossy.

“I’ll come with you,” he whispered. “I already talked to the band. Told them Jin can take over vocals. It’s fine. I can find a job in the city. A good one. I swear, I’ll figure it out.”

Your heart ached. Oh how it ached.

Because he was cutting out pieces of himself just to follow you into the unknown.

Everything he loved and cherished was here. You couldn’t take that away from him.

Just because you were miserable here didn’t mean he had to be miserable somewhere else just to be with you.

So instead of answering, you kissed him deep, and you kissed him hard.

And somehow, in that kiss, he understood that this would probably be the last time.

So he made love to you, and you made love to him, like it was.

You still remember how his solid body felt. How he made you feel at home when he was inside you, filling you, pumping his seed deep. 

And afterward, when he lay on top of you, sweaty and spent, you told him:

“You’re holding me back. If you really love me, you’ll let me go.”

It rained that night.

And you swore the sky cried with you.

Maybe it was the universe’s way of mourning the tragedy of it all.

Right place, wrong person.

How he was the right place.

And you were the wrong person.

He held you tight against his chest, his whole body trembling, shaking with silent, broken sobs. You felt his tears seep into your skin, felt his grief in the way his arms refused to let go. 

And by morning, he was gone.

You cried all your tears that day, because you never cried after that. 

Maybe you used them all up.

The rain tapped against your window as if it, too, has something to say. 

Maybe – just maybe – it’s crying for you. 

But that thought feels self-indulgent. 

Why would the sky mourn for someone like you?

After all, you were nothing but a selfish bitch, willing to lie and betray the only love you’d ever known.

Jungkook gave you his entire world, offered in open palms.

Every piece of him.

But it wasn't enough.

NOW

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

You turn to one of the investors with a polite tilt of your head, the smile on your lips still perfectly in place. Your cheeks ache from smiling. Family. Family friends. Business partners. Everyone your father and Kole deemed important enough to attend this pre-wedding dinner.

The wedding– your wedding– is in two weeks.

But apparently, everyone’s here to celebrate your father and Kole’s company merger.

It really shouldn’t surprise you how many private jets a private island can accommodate. But it still does. The extravagance is nauseating.

“Mr. Chen was asking if you plan to take over the Hong Kong branch after the wedding,” your father chimes in for you. “I told him it’s up to Kole if he wants you to work right after the honeymoon.”

You blink.

Up to Kole?

If he wants you to work?

You laugh.

And then finish your champagne in one go.

Where the hell is Kole, anyway? You haven’t seen him since dinner. Probably talking business.

You excuse yourself and make your way to the bar. The bartender asks what you’ll have, you don’t hesitate.

“A beer,” you say.

She raises a brow in amusement but doesn’t question it, and a pint of draft is placed in front of you.

You take it, gratefully, and walk toward the beach, away from the hushed conversations like everyone is talking about secrets.

You used to think this was normal.

The way they spoke in riddles and metaphors, like a dance.

It wasn’t until you moved with your mother to the town that you realized:

Normal people don’t speak like that.

They speak with their hearts full and their chins high, unafraid to talk about the things they love.

You pass by the softly lit cabanas and hear faint laughter near the main house, but the further you walk, the quieter it becomes. The huts here are empty. Just the sound of the shore. 

You find the furthest hut, the one tucked farthest from everything, and slip inside.

But the moment your foot hits the floor, you hear it.

Breathy gasps.

Soft moans.

Whoops.

The hut’s not empty, obviously.

And really, you’d hate to interrupt a guest enjoying themselves at your party.

Maybe try the hut before this one?

You’re already turning around, ready to slip out quietly, when– 

“...yeah, like that. Love it when you do that.”

A man’s voice.

You pause.

Kole’s voice.

Then, another voice - a man’s, laughs low and hums something in return.

And it sounds… familiar.

Curiosity tugs at you. So you look.

The curtain separating the lounge from the inner room is half drawn. Through the gap, you catch movement.

Kole is pinned against the wall, panting, shirt undone. His perfectly styled hair is now a mess, sticking to his forehead with sweat. His hands are buried in another man's dark hair, fingers guiding - as he kneels before him, head moving with a rhythm that has Kole’s eyes rolling back and his hips stuttering forward.

Your gaze flicks to the shirt the guy’s wearing.

You know that shirt.

You and Kole picked it out together last month during your vacation in Europe.

A birthday gift for your cousin.

Holy shit.

What the actual fuck.

Have they been… fucking?

For how long?

Kole and your cousin?

You didn’t even know about Kole’s sexual preferences. It’s not something the two of you ever discussed openly.

Not that there was space for that kind of conversation between you anyway.

What else don’t you know about him?

They don’t notice you.

They’re too lost in their own world. 

After collecting yourself, you quietly turn and step back out into the night.

You walk away calmly, beer still in one hand, your phone on the other.

You’re already in bed, in a satin nightgown, the glow of your phone screen casting light across your face as you scroll through nothing.

When Kole enters, he offers you that charming smile of his.

“Long day,” he murmurs, undoing his shirt. “You were wonderful tonight. Truly. The guests adore you.”

He disappears into the bathroom without waiting for a response.

You hear the water run. Then stop.

When he returns, he’s in his maroon pajama set, hair damp, skin freshly dewy with that aftershave you used to like. He slips into bed beside you and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“Good night, darling,” he says casually. “Excellent job today. I’m sorry I couldn’t be at your side more, you know how it is, investor talk about the new branch. But tomorrow’s for us. Golf, then a massage. Yes?”

You look up from your phone and set it aside, then turn to face him fully.

“I saw you,” you said softly, calmly. 

You’re devoid of emotion.

You haven’t felt anything in months.

And honestly, nothing surprises you anymore.

“In the hut. With my cousin.” You wait for a reaction from him, but he only blinks once.

Then lets out a short, airy chuckle, the same chuckle he gives when the wine’s poured a little too generously.

“Oh? How unfortunate. That wasn’t my intention at all. Still… I do apologize you had to witness it.”

“That’s it?” Your voice remains calm, your face unreadable. “You’re sorry I saw?”

He sighs, folding his hands neatly across his chest.

“Darling,” he begins, composed, “what exactly would you have me do? Apologize for indulging in my own preferences? We both have our… pursuits. I’ve never interfered in yours.”

“What?”

He raises an eyebrow, utterly unbothered.

He is eerily calm.

You trained yourself to stay calm. It was survival, really. A skill honed through years of navigating your mother’s moods and your father’s expectations.

But this is something else entirely.

This is detachment - bred from an environment where emotions are inconvenient and consequences are optional.

It makes your skin crawl.

“Come now… Darling, I know about your affair.”

Your blood runs cold.

“I’m not an idiot,” he continues still in that maddening calm tone, as if explaining something obvious to a slow student. “I'm well aware you were fucking your ex every time you visited your mother.”

Your lips part, but you don't say anything.

“But I also know it wasn't serious. Of course.” He exhales softly. “Just like mine wasn’t. These things – flings, indulgences – they’re inevitable. Necessary, even. We all have our vices.”

He looks at you with amusement, as he continues.

“I never stood in the way of yours because I knew, at the end of the day, you’d come back to me. You always do.”

He leans back into the pillows, perfectly composed.

“Because no matter how good he makes you feel, no matter how well he fucks you,” he murmurs, “he’ll never be able to give you the life you want. The one you need.”

And then, he smiles.

“And you and I both know, you’re not about to give up this life,” he laughs softly, “that man? He can’t give you any of it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “This life?”

“Oh, don’t play coy. You love wealth. You love security. You love summers in Saint-Tropez and winters in the Swiss Alps. You love not having to think about money. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Bile rises in your throat as a tangle of emotions churns in your chest. But you say nothing. You let him speak.

“I don’t blame you,” he says smoothly. “Living in that charming little town must’ve been… enlightening. Poor you, having to experience what life is like for the rest of them. It must’ve reminded you just how different we are.”

He leans back and sighs. “I don’t fault you for it, darling. I never have. It’s simply who you are. This is where you belong.” 

He picks up his phone from the nightstand, casually scrolling for a moment before dialing.

“Cancel golf tomorrow,” he says. “The investors and I will meet on the yacht instead.”

Then, he sets the phone down, turns back to you, and adds

“Wear that pretty white dress I gave you. It’ll match mine tomorrow. You’ll look magnificent in it.”

And with that, he switches off his lamp and goes to sleep.

Kole was right about one thing–

the dress does look good on you.

But then again, what doesn’t?

You’ve sculpted yourself into perfection. 

It’s true that being part of this society requires effort to always be perfect, so you invest in yourself.

You sip at the champagne and glance out the plane window. The clouds drift past like marshmallows – soft, white, pure.

Far below, the island looks impossibly small now. Like an ant. The water surrounding it glistens, like blue Gatorade under the sun.

It’s not your first time flying on a private jet.

But it’s your first time flying alone.

And that thought feels… liberating.

You’ve been alone all your life, haunted by the isolating feeling that your life was never truly yours.

It’s true, you were an obedient child. You never once strayed from the path your parents laid out for you.

Except for Jungkook.

Being with him throughout college was an act of rebellion in itself.

It was the only reckless thing you ever did.

And it was the best time of your life.

It’s ironic how the best time of your life happened during the darkest.

Right person, wrong place, or right place, wrong person, or whatever it was Namjoon said.

The pilot says the flight is going to take two hours.

You plan on taking a short nap so you have the energy to pack as soon as you arrive at the apartment you share with Kole.

You have no concrete plan after moving out of the apartment, and that thought should scare you, but it doesn’t.

You didn't speak a word to anyone before leaving the island. 

Everyone was still asleep when you left.

Even Kole didn’t notice you leaving the villa. He was sound asleep on that stupidly large bed.

They can all go fuck themselves.

And as you close your eyes to take a short nap, you turn off your phone that’s been vibrating since you left, with people trying to reach you.

You probably have dozens of missed calls by now.

Maybe asking where you are.

Or maybe asking what the hell is wrong with you.

You can’t blame them, not when you emailed a few pictures you took of Kole and your cousin last night to your family.

To your father, your step mother, her sisters, their husbands, all your cousins… and Kole himself.

Just one email, sent to every single name on the recipient list before your plane even left the ground.

You debated whether to send the video, but it’s always nice to have extra ammunition, just in case.

You smacked your forehead when you realized you’d forgotten to add a subject line to the email.

But oh well.

Mistakes happen.

No one’s perfect.

We are all sinners, after all.

taglist: @softhaes @investedreader @whoa-jo @mageprincess7 @daskewl

a/n: thanks for waiting, told you it was a looong one! took me a bit longer to finish because, well… life happens. hope you enjoy the chapter and please let me know what you think. THANK YOU! 💛

feedback? asks? 💌

[octuscle]

Corduroy

Jean-Luc was happy. He had found exactly what he was looking for at the flea market: an old brown corduroy jacket. It was a perfect fit for his bohemian style. Yes, it was a little big, yes, it smelled a bit strongly of sweat, but he could have it altered and taken to the dry cleaner's when Jean-Luc was flush with cash again. At the moment, he was broke once more. After giving the flea market dealer the 12 euros he had asked for, he had about 3.80 euros in small coins left in his pocket. That was it. Well, an espresso standing up cost 1.20 euros, and after that he would see if he could scrounge a few euros from one of his friends. Or if he could find a job somewhere today to earn a little money. The rent was due the day after tomorrow. He needed a little money...

The waiter greeted Jean-Luc particularly warmly. But he didn't even know the café here. “The coffee is on the house, of course!” said the waiter. Jean-Luc could hardly believe his luck. Was it the jacket? Yes, it was cool and had a really dominant masculine effect, perhaps because of the smell. Jean-Luc drank his coffee, left a euro tip on the table, and left.

When he passed the next café, the waiter greeted him and asked if he didn't want any coffee today. Jean-Luc smiled and said he had to go to the barber first. He ran his fingers through his hair. Too long, too unkempt. The waiter smiled back. With a wink. And said he would keep Jean-Luc's regular table free.

At the barber's, he was welcomed like a regular customer who hadn't been there for far too long. Jean-Luc was embarrassed. Pierre had been cutting his hair for years. While... That's right, he had done his training here in the neighborhood. He had been a patrol officer here before switching to the criminal investigation department. He took off his jacket and sat down directly in a barber's chair. Jean-Luc didn't have to wait here. He didn't have to pay either. When in doubt, he got a tip when he came here. It was good for the shop and good for the neighborhood when he showed up regularly. Pierre asked about any exciting cases he was currently working on. Jean-Luc just grinned. “Secret, you know!” Pierre shaved the sides of the commissioner's angular skull.

The table had indeed been kept free for him. The waiter came with a coffee and an envelope. Jean-Luc discreetly slipped the bribe money into his inside pocket. His jacket fit like a glove. His colleagues smiled at Jean-Luc for his bohemian style. The other employees at the police station were more the “leather jacket” type. But Jean-Luc didn't need that. He got the respect he needed even in a corduroy jacket, even if it was from the flea market. Although he did like to browse there. There was often interesting information about stolen goods and other things at the flea market. But to be honest, he rarely found clothes in his size there.

At the police station, Jean-Luc awkwardly took off his jacket. It was an heirloom. His father had been a cop and was certainly an impressive man. But Jean-Luc weighed at least 20 kilograms more. The jacket had accompanied Jean-Luc through his first years as a police commissioner. It had earned him sympathy and respect in the neighborhood. But now it was somehow time to adopt a new style. He was on the verge of being promoted to Commissaire divisionnaire de police. Thanks to his good contacts and various sources of additional income, he had a cool apartment from which he could even see a bit of the Eiffel Tower. Eric idolized his boss. Being allowed to give him a blow job after work was an absolute highlight. When Jean-Luc stood in front of him and hung the corduroy jacket over the back of the chair, he could hardly believe his luck. “Those are big shoes to fill,” Jean-Luc grunted with a grin.

Eric wanted to wave the waiter over when they had finished their coffee to pay. Jean-Luc laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “My little friend, you still have a lot to learn!” The waiter came over. Jean-Luc put the envelope in his pocket and said that they would like two pastis on the house.

[mistycomma]

Jax x reader

Not very good. Fanfiction^^

Softball.

Softball.What could possibly go wrong?Jax stands by the bars and watches Ragatha and Evil Memories, grinning as he notices Gangle and Zooble giggling and then the voting board (or whatever it was called) appears.

-So, what's this?Jax has turned into a maid. Black dress, white apron and knee socks. And of course, not without gloves! Y/N bursts out laughing, damn he looks too cute! Hearing his best friend's laughter. Jax glares at her,

-Shut the hell up! This is not funny!You piece of shit!

-Jax, it's your turn.- Kinger interrupts Jax, announcing his exit. Apparently he doesn't care about JAX's "suit". YOU watch this, barely holding back your laughter, while Jax curses the weight, threatening to put you in a maid's dress.

- Jaxie, it really suits you- You smile slyly, watching him gradually blush. In the end, he went out onto the field

- It's time for you to get out! (Guys, I wrote these conversations while watching the Russian dub, don't hit me with slippers for deviations from the canon) - Said the Evil Zooble. Her eyes were spread apart, it looked stupid.

- SHUT UP- Jax shouted angrily, but he was distracted by his not-so-Evil version of himself.

- D-don't worry! I think it suits you!- "Evil" Jax tried to console Jax, to which he received a negative answer.

–I don't want to hear it! I want you to die!-

- What is Jaxie? I think your clone is right! It suits you! - You said, leaning on the railing near the field. Yes? - you asked his double.

- Y-yeah, I think it suits him very well! - Evil Jax answered you, but he had to be distracted for the game.

After a while, Jax returned from the field, angrily looking at you and occasionally glancing at Gangl. Sitting on the bench, he noticed how you were talking nicely with his double. You somehow became friends, and were talking on the sidelines. Jax watched all this with such a grimace that he could drill a hole in his "evil" double with his gaze.

- What the #@$& are they talking so nicely there?

- What are you doing? Ragata approached Jax, You look too upset. Is it really all because of the suit? - Ragata looked at the displeased Jax.

- I'm a femboy bunny, what do you think? -Jax looked at Ragata with displeasure, but she just gave birth with her shoulders and went to Kinger. You were still talking to his double, and it seemed like, what's wrong?

- You're the only one so kind, among the rest of your friends? - You looked at the other doubles, they were angry. The match was over and Kane was about to take you away.

- Y-yeah, the others aren't so kind, but Evil Zooble can sometimes cheer you up. -"Evil" Jax blushed with embarrassment, and then looked at you, you called him cutie several times, he only said, You were also very cute or thanked you. Looking at all this, Jax was angry. Is he worse than his double? He's also cute, right.A minute later, you and your friends were back in the tent, Jax came up to you, there was joy on his face. He's definitely glad he won't see his doppelganger's face anymore.

-I wanted to show Remember that thing in the hallway, want to come with us? - he asked as if nothing had happened.

-Well, let's do it? What's that thing? You, Remember, and Jax walked towards the hallway, talking about something.Was that adventure... Cool?

Sorry for such a bunch of cringe. I just hate my hands and my imagination. If you write that this is complete bullshit, I'll understand, because I think this creation is terrible. Sorry again. Plus, I'm new to Tumblr. This half-drabble irritates me. Also written for @pregnantshadowmillcookie.

[classicrocknlove]

~Jimmy Page Fanfiction~

Spread Your Wings

“I’m just looking for an angel with a broken wing…. But somehow, they always seem to fly, fly away…”

-

Chapter Eighteen (Part Two)

(Explicit Content Below)

-

August 12th, 1973

Cynthia’s P.O.V.

The clinking of cutlery and the soft tone of a classical record filled the air as Jimmy and I, with my parents, settled at the dining room table.

My mom and dad stationed themselves at the ends of the oval table, leaving Jimmy and I to the two seats on the sides.

My mother’s homemade stew, along with fresh Italian bread and butter lay about the table, ready to be feasted upon.

The forwarding darkness shone through the window, the last bit of sunlight casting a warm glow over the perfectly matching plates and glasses that sat in front of us. Mom always needed to impress.

Jimmy sat across from me, and I caught his eye, a playful smile tugging at my lips as I was overly elated, and slightly surprised, that he was actually here with me right now, eating dinner with my parents and I. This felt like some kind of fever dream.

He grinned back at me, his tousled black hair, a bit flatter now with the build up of a little sweat he managed to perspire when out in the garage with my father.

His hair fell over his forehead in that sort of effortless, beautiful wave. I couldn’t stop looking at him across the table as I rubbed my bare foot mischievously across his sock-clad one.

My father and Jimmy continued their conversation about touring that they had started in the garage moments before.

My mother grew antsy and annoyed by the minute, this was evident. She was surely used to the attention and spotlight always remaining on her. Since she wasn’t too fond of Jimmy, she was not keen on him receiving so much praise from my father.

“Honey, dinner smells wonderful. Pass the bread, will you?” My father calls over to my mother who gripped onto the basket of bread in front of her, handing it off to him.

We serve ourselves and begin eating, and I hope that this dinner goes more smoothly than our last meal we all encountered together, when my mother practically interrogated Jimmy in the small bistro.

Soon, I compliment the meal to my mom, hoping to lighten the tension that hung among us, and she softly smiles as she continues eating.

“Yes, Mrs. Carpenter, you really outdid yourself tonight. This stew is marvelous.” Jimmy said, spooning a bit of mashed potato and stew mixture into his mouth.

I smiled at his politeness, happy he was here.

He then reached for his glass of wine, easily downing it, certainly a habit he possessed and couldn’t shake, even when trying to be classy at the dinner table.

I nodded in agreement with him, peering at him pouring another glass of the red that sat on the table. He appeared nervous again, his introvertness threatening to express itself, and I felt for him.

I continued my rubbing of his foot as he gazed at me with his emerald eyes, and I felt warm and giddy, just having him near.

I enjoyed watching him eat heartily. It seemed on tour that he had no interest to eat, maybe it was the alcohol and other… substances, that fueled him enough.

But, his face had gained that gorgeous color back, his body looking healthier and he appeared more energized lately. I was happy that he had been able to gain a bit of his normalness back by being with me.

I stared at him lovingly over the tip of my glass as I sipped, but the warmth in my stomach faded as I glanced toward my mother, who was meticulously folding her napkin on her lap, the expression on her face expressing some kind of dismay.

“Jim, I’d be careful with the wine - I know how you rockstars can be with the booze.” My mother states, eyes narrowing at him slightly. “You’d want to get my daughter home safe, now wouldn’t you?” She spits.

“Of course,” Jimmy replied. Then looking over to me, a teasing tone strung in his voice. “Nothing says ‘rockstar’ like getting squiffy in the dining room.” He slightly chuckles, throwing the joke out there, and I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped me.

My mother was clearly not amused, her lips pursed into a thin line, the wrinkles indenting themselves among the sides of her mouth.

“I’ll have you know, Jimmy,” my mother started, throwing her napkin aside, spoon coming out of her hands and into her bowl with a loud clink. “Not everyone is pleased, nor struck by your… fame. Nobody here cares about your distasteful touring, nor your prolific album sales. We work hard for our living, as you can see.” I cringed as my mom scolded Jimmy, unnecessarily, as she gestured around to her classy dining room.

The gesture was pompous, her words were cruel, and I was not ready for the duel that was surely about to ensue.

I looked up at Jimmy, unexpecting eyes, and I could see his smile falter, and his lips carried a retort right back.

“I don’t expect anyone to be impressed by me, nor the band. I’m just here to get to know you, eat dinner, Mrs. Carpenter. ‘S all.” He shrugs, and his nonchalance, his dismissal of her chastising, seemed to fuel her even more, and she continued her rant with fury.

I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable with the tension that thickened in the air by the second, similar to the steam that rose from the piping hot stew.

“That is what you claim,” my mother started, her voice icy, “but you flaunt your lifestyle. The hotshot clothes, that damned limousine you are carting yourself and my daughter around in, the partying. I’ve heard - all - about you.” Her voice is menacing as she seemed to finally lose her cool. I sighed and shook my head, unknowing of what to do or say to calm her down.

“What kind of future do you expect with my daughter, hm? A life of chaos?” She exclaims, sitting back in her chair with angst, stare unfaltering on Jimmy’s presence.

She was getting ridiculous, downright out of control.

“Mom, stop,” I interjected, trying to sound as firm as I could. “This really isn’t the time, okay? Let’s eat.” I sigh, pushing my bangs back, nervous sweat building upon my forehead.

“No, let him speak,” my mother insisted, glaring at Jimmy. “He’s a big boy, let him fend for himself.” My mother sneers, obnoxious smirk forming on her thin lips.

Jimmy leaned back, crossing his arms, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not here to defend anything. Cynthia and I enjoy each other’s company, we make each other happy. Isn’t that what matters?” He tries to reason, and my heart lurches, and my cheeks begin to blush with loving fondness, and shock that he was spitting the venom right back at my mother. Not many were willing to go up against her.

“Infatuation doesn’t pay bills or provide stability,” my mother countered, tone sharp and face hardened like stone. Infatuation?

God, I hope this isn’t just a case of infatuation…

“Perhaps, think of what may happen when the music stops?” She finishes, and I gasp at her abrasiveness. My father and I peer at one another, concerned, and I gesture for him to do SOMETHING - ANYTHING - at this point, that will stop my mother’s agonizing fulmination.

Jimmy’s face fell, an angry expression now crossing his features. “What about it, then? You assume I haven’t a plan? I work hard, as well. I’ve built this from the ground up.” He informs her, finger pointing down and up at himself. My eyes catch his gaze for a second, and I hope to soften his demeanor, maybe try to mediate the situation.

But, my mother was relentless, intent on having the last word, as she always did.

She offered a sarcastic, terrorizing laugh, seemingly amused by Jimmy’s retort.

“You’ve built something on the backs of your fans who spend their hard earned money to come watch you, and I can’t understand why. Jesus, with that music you make. Not to mention, they are without a clue of who you are.” My mother said, voice rising yet again.

“You’re certainly not some role model, Jimmy. I can spot your kind from a mile away.” She shakes her head, hand pouncing the air as she drank a big gulp of her water, throat becoming hoarse with her tirade.

Jimmy looked at her incredulously, taken aback by her cruel words. “I’ve never claimed to be any sort of role model… I just want to make music. That is what I love to do.” He shakes his head, exasperated at the heated exchange. God, he sounded like he was in some sort of interview right now, defending his name. This was getting out of hand, and I could see the smoke practically blowing out of my mother’s ears.

I reached across the table, placing a hand on Jimmy’s, trying my best to ground him.

“Okay, and that is enough, right? So, let’s move on, enjoy this wonderful meal that has been prepared.” I try to reason, hopefully breaking down this argument piece by piece.

My mother’s gaze softened slightly, sharp tone lessening, but her argument still hadn’t wavered. “Cynthia, I want what’s best for you. Think hard about this before moving forward.” She sighed as she picked her spoon up again, hopefully to shovel food into her mouth so she’d stop talking.

“I know,” I replied. “But this is my choice.” I pronounce, standing my ground, hoping my point was clear.

Jimmy looked at me, a mix of irritation and endearment in his eyes.

“I have thought about it. I have no doubts in my mind.” I finish, my foot coming up to wrap around Jimmy’s ankle in sympathy.

He looks to me lovingly, eyes thanking me for my loyalty.

The tension hung around us like a heavy tarp, but beneath the thick air, there was a fleet of understanding and an urge of devotion that had ignited in my heart. I squeezed his feet with mine, hand patting and rubbing his, silently promising to stand by him.

This was certainly the start of something special.

The record continued to play, instrument strumming flowing through the air softly, a striking contrast to the storm that had brewed and poured over at the dining table.

The ball was now in my mother’s court, and she had two choices, keep this argument going, or diffuse it.

My mother seemed to level her head, face softening with the seconds that passed as she saw that I was not going to support her in her opinions.

“Let’s just eat,” my mother finally said, breaking the dam, her tone weary. “For God’s sake, Jimmy, try not to talk about your next tour.”

Jimmy chuckled, retreating, breaking the tension fully. “No promises.” He throws the joke out, hopefully to smooth the rest of the night off, hopefully to keep conversation carrying on.

I couldn’t help but smile, grateful for the lighter mood, laughter now filling the air as we finished off dinner.

My mother still seemed a bit jaded, unknowing of how to carry on without giving Jimmy the rest of her mind, but she behaved the rest of the dinner. For which, I was extremely thankful.

After the table had been cleared and and the kitchen was tidy, we strolled to the sitting room by the front bay window.

Jimmy sipped on a cup of coffee, with a little whisper of a protest - he certainly preferred Earl Grey - but dealt with the strong coffee anyway, cream and sugar filling the cup to its limit. He scarfed down a piece of the tiramisu that sat awaiting on the coffee table.

We chatted amongst ourselves, my mom excusing herself to go tidy the kitchen - which probably didn’t need tidying.

For some reason, she detested Jimmy and I’s relationship, and I had no clue as to why. I wondered why she felt as if she knew so much about who Jimmy is, and why she felt as if she had some kind of power to try and end it between us.

I was hurt by this. I felt as if she really didn’t understand me, didn’t understand how important this was to me… how important it had become since our last meeting all together at the restaurant.

With my mother’s absence, I felt that everyone was more comfortable, and Jimmy eased into what was originally planned for after dinner.

He sought out his guitar, and it was evident that his mind never really wavered from the instrument. I had a feeling that the music was always a steady notion in his mind.

Even back at my apartment, whenever I’d shortly depart from him to prepare food, tea, dessert, get a record on to play, he’d pick up his guitar, strum riffs and chords, writing lyrics or guitar chord symphonies down onto anything he could find; a napkin, piece of paper, back of a fortune cookie slip, anything.

He’s so unique, possesses such great passion, and I was simply beguiled at what a talented man he is. I was awestruck, at times, just watching him as he focused on his playing. I hoped to one day even view him perform in a studio setting. I could only imagine the arrangements he’d put together, and how incredible it surely was to watch him express his musical persona.

Jimmy had brought his acoustic guitar from the garage, hurrying back to my dad whom was more than ready for his ‘lesson’.

Jimmy decided to start with a song that had some common ‘major and minor’ chords that he wanted my dad to get more familiar with.

“Alright Jim, let’s see what you’ve got,” My father said, a hint of teasing lacing his tone. It seemed he was well aware of Jimmy’s skill, and I could see the excitement in his eyes.

With a mischievous grin, Jimmy nodded and began strumming the opening notes of ‘Tangerine’. The melody floated about the room, wrapping around us all like a blanket.

“One of my favorites of yours, Jim,” my dad mused as he leaned forward. “You know, I tried playing this the other day, just couldn’t get the chords right.” My dad shook his head as he watched Jimmy play skillfully, fingers working the melody slow, as to aid my father’s retainment of each chord.

As Jimmy and my father played, the conversation and chords flowed like a lazy river between the two of them, slow and smooth. My dad’s voice rose and fell with the chords he played, big grin plastered on his face, excited and overjoyed that he had found someone to play with - especially an expert like Jimmy.

There was an easy camaraderie building between he and Jimmy, and I looked on with pure joy, observing the two of them play together.

It seemed that Jimmy was holding his own just fine, so I waltzed away for a moment, off to see if my mother needed any ‘help’ in the kitchen.

~

Jimmy’s P.O.V.

“Hey Jim, let me talk with you a second, yeah?” Dave caught my attention, a serious look in his eye. Oh, fuck.

“How is it going between you two, Jim?” He asked me as soon as I stopped my strumming and looked up at him.

“It’s great, we’re handling this long distance thing alright.” I tell him, leaving out the bits and pieces of how badly she pissed me off my first night back in New York, going out with that fucking twat of an old flame she has.

“Do you think she’s serious about you?” Dave asked me suddenly, his eyes narrowing slightly at me, surely trying to gauge my reaction.

His question caught me off guard, but nonetheless, I was prepared for some type of interrogation - Cyn’s mum had certainly gave me her all.

“I suppose… I certainly am.” I replied, my fingers dancing over the strings, eyes all over the damned place, trying to slice through this awful fucking tension.

Christ, they really fucking love their daughter. Finally, a woman with no mummy nor daddy issues.

“Good. I don’t want to see her hurt,” Dave said, his expression softening a bit as he peered at me. “She’s been through enough… that motherfucker put her through the ringer, I tell you.”

I paused, letting the last note linger off the strings, into the thick air, then set the guitar down on my knee.

“I can promise you, Dave, I’m not going on anywhere. I care about her, you know.” I try to reason, hoping to gain some trust from someone in this godforsaken house… God knows I’ve given Cyn reasons to not… and she still does.

This thought broke down into pieces within my brain… I’ve already began to show her the real me… music… fucking… drinking… more fucking… how much more will she take?… Once she sees how out of control I can be… how far gone I’ve become?

Christ, Charlotte sure has had enough… how long will it take for Cyn to catch on?

Dave studied me, closely, a smile breaking through his stern demeanor, which was almost as intimidating as Cyn’s mother’s.

“Well, that’s a start. Remember, I’ve got my eye on you, Page.” He says firmly, a recognizable smirk upon his face.

“I’d expect nothing less.” I throw the line out, hoping he’d keep his smile - he did.

I picked up the guitar. “Now, how about we try that chorus again?” The thick air had been lifted completely, replaced with the familiar sound of my Gibson, sound that I crave twenty four hours a day - well, and Cyn’s voice. The only two fucking sounds that seem to soothe me these days.

We fell back into the music, thank-fucking-God, and I continued to show him the ropes.

He wasn’t half bad, and I was always willing to jam. That’s another thing that I could really never hold back from… playing. It went hand in hand with my other obsessesive - compulsive - desires… as Percy called them. Actually; Peter, Bonzo, John… they all fucking knew exactly what I was about… read me like a book. At least that’s what they thought.

Now, here I am, obsessively, compulsively, crashing out over my newest fascination.

Then she appeared.

Cynthia re-entered the room, hair tousled, face like a doll, a petite snack tray in her hands.

She has no idea that later, she will be my little snack… all night long……

~

Cynthia’s P.O.V.

“Did I miss the show?” I tease, as I walk into Jimmy and my father really getting into the music, guitar strumming becoming in sync with one another’s.

I set the tray of after-dinner treats down onto the coffee table and took my place back down next to Jimmy on the loveseat.

“Just the best part,” My dad shot back, grinning at Jimmy and I.

“Keep him around, Cynthia. He’s good for your ol’ man’s ego.” My dad chides, offering Jimmy a fond pat to the shoulder.

We laughed, the giggles filling the room like bright sunshine, almost melodic, similar to their guitar strumming.

“Oh, I’m sure that’s what he’s really after. Isn’t that right, Jimmy?” I wink, a silly smirk plastered on my face while Jimmy chuckles.

He returned my wink, fingers strumming a small riff. “It’s important to impress the in-laws.” He threw the statement out there, his eyes widening at his sudden forwardness, but there was no taking that back.

My dad didn’t seem to mind, didn’t seem to take it too serious, and even seemed to be pleased, amused at the thought - no sense of worry whatsoever.

“Jim… Don’t you get any crazy ideas,” my dad warned playfully, wagging a finger.

Jimmy laughed at this, throwing a nod at my dad, eyebrows coming up with humor.

I rolled my eyes, voice playful as I peered at my dad’s cheery face. “Dad, you’re not scaring him away now, are you?” I teased.

Before my dad could retort, Jimmy added his own. “Not a chance.” He replied, eyes sparkling with mischief and tenderness.

I looked up at him with loving eyes, his emerald eyes shining in the dim illumination the lamps had set around the room.

I bit my lip as I conjured words, but I couldn’t seem to come up with anything sophisticated, solely due to my elation that my father and Jimmy had got along so well… and that Jimmy was really enjoying himself.

I hadn’t really gotten to this side of him much. Of course, we had been relaxing and enjoying each other for days on end, and I couldn’t separate him from the guitar.

But, it was evident that since being off from the tour, he still yearned to play with others, and seemed to be passionate of not only playing, but teaching others how to perform on the instrument.

It was a pleasure to witness his passion in such a unique way, as he was in his casual clothes, lounging on my parents’ floral couch, guitar in hand, laughing alongside my father, with six-string-strumming filling the room.

This was all so… easy. Shockingly easy. Despite the kerfuffle that had ensued in the dining room, the evening had gone very well, and I was delighted.

My mother soon joined us in the living room, small cup of coffee in her hand as she chatted with us, shockingly more relaxed and prudent than she had been previously at dinner.

Soon, she and my father began taking glasses and dessert plates to the kitchen, leaving Jimmy and I alone on the couch in the sitting room.

Jimmy kept the guitar in his hand, seemingly not able to part with it for long, but his body and attention turned toward me.

His eyes were dark and low, suddenly glazed over with a peculiar sense of… lust? Desire? Recklessness?

I couldn’t be too sure of what was consuming him all of a sudden, but I had a tinge of what may have brought this sudden mood on.

Jimmy had ingested a few shots of whiskey with my father during their mini concert in the living room - much to my mother’s dismay. They were both intoxicated to an extended degree, my mother dragging my father away to the kitchen, surely to scold him.

Jimmy took the shots like a pro, which he certainly was, could out-drink anyone I’ve ever met, and the strong whiskey was fueling his usual licentiousness. He began dirtily whispering to me while my parents’ backs were turned, and I couldn’t help but prickle with sweat at our exchange.

“God, love, you’re driving me crazy tonight. This dress…” he roughly whispered in my ear, softly running his hand down my thigh, down to the hem of my dress.

My body went balmy, almost numb at his electrifying touch, and I was hot immediately at his tone. I couldn’t wait to hear what he was going to proclaim next.

“You know what it does to me, don’t you, Cyn?” He inquires, almost rhetorically, and I wanted him to tell me just what it does to him.

I opened my mouth to speak, surely to utter something nonsensical, but he beat me to the punch, retorting to his own statement, and furthering the blush that had spread across my cheeks.

“Watching you in it all night… dancing along to our playing…” he continued his dirty, lustful whispers, “goddamn it, love… if your parents weren’t around, I’d have fucked you right here.” I gasp at his filthy words dripping off of his tongue and I look around, making sure my parents hadn’t made their way back from the kitchen yet.

“Jimmy…” I whisper, incredulously.

His hand dared higher up my thigh, and I squeezed them shut, aching to feel his touch, but the rebellious nature of this action was almost too much for me.

“What do you…” I trailed off, not quite knowing what to say.

“What do I want, love? Is that what you’d like to know?” He smiled, a lustful, devious little grin, and I kept my shy gaze on him.

“I want you back in bed, love. Where I can really have you the ways that I want…” He informs me, voice low and seductive.

“Jimmy, I…” I start, once I hear the footsteps of my parents, knowing they’re finishing up their cleaning and will be returning.

He looked at me, a wondering in his eyes, almost like a cartoon thinking bubble was above his head.

“Jimmy… they’ll hear you…” I muster, whispering the scold, but feeling suddenly so alive from his titillating voice.

“Let them.” he whispered recklessly, firm voice maddening in the, now, overheated living room.

“Imagine what they'd say if they knew what we were doing before we arrived here…”

My cheeks burned, a fire spreading from my neck to hairline, thin bubbles of sweat forming beneath my perfectly quaffed bangs.

I wiped my forehead as the memory flashed through my mind, hot and vivid: the intoxicating scent of Jimmy in bed… his insisiting on a nap before our shower… without me knowing that he had other ideas. His musky scent, wine-stained lips from the night before, the rough texture of his hands against my bare back as his lips devoured mine. The way he muffled my moans as he devoured me, his dark curls that cascaded from his head between my legs becoming more tangled with my tugs and tight grip.

I couldn’t breathe at this point as his hand gripped further up my thigh, long fingers ghosting over my damp panties.

“You're impossible,” I whispered, softly gripping his wrist to stop his movements, which was a weak protest.

My body betrayed me, though, and soon my thighs were widening on the couch, my ears and eyes pinned to the hall that led to the kitchen, praying my parents don’t see our dirty behavior.

I felt so bad… but this feeling felt so good.

Jimmy leaned infinitely closer, like we were being drawn by an irresistible gravitational pull, and he continued his filthy words as his hand began rubbing soft circles into my floral panty clad center.

“Perhaps,” he hummed, a low sound that vibrated through me.

“But you love it, don’t you?” His voice was maddening, accent becoming darker by the second, the desire in his voice overly evident.

“…The way I make you feel? The way I make you scream my name… I’m sure your entire building knows it by heart now, love.” His words continued to shock me, and though I couldn’t quite tell him, but his words turned me on to the point of no return. I was truly entranced with his accented expressions, and I didn’t want him to stop.

My eyes threatened to screw shut as his fingers increased their speed against me, and I’d lose my sight on my parents that dared to walk in the room and catch us at any moment.

A sudden burst of laughter came from the kitchen, my dad’s baritone voice following mother’s softer tone, allowing me to realize that they were still in the kitchen.

Jimmy and I were on the tip of a cliff it seemed, ready to fall right over, and into the abyss of chaos. This felt so wrong, my deviating behavior overwhelming all of my sane thoughts, and I didn’t know whether I should stop him, or lie back and let him take me right here.

“Jimmy, please,” I begged, voice barely audible, my plea furthering his arousal, sounding half of my fear of getting caught, and the rest of my fervent desire. My eyes travelled to his, pleading with him, a dizzy mix of terror and thrill overtaking me.

“I wonder how long it would take for them to notice…” he continued, completely undeterred by my supplications, his gaze dropping to my trembling lips, “if I just... kissed you, took you right here... rubbed at you until you couldn't breathe, until you forgot where we are...” His forbidden words toppled over each other, his desire seemingly becoming too much for him to bare, as were mine. I threw my head back and softly moaned, and I couldn’t quite decipher which part of this was more alluring… His words or his touch.

I have never had any man express any desire like this toward me, and especially not to me, and Jimmy was certainly the inventor of it all. This moment became too delicious to stop, and my desire overtook me completely. I leaned back on the couch, spread my legs further, and allowed Jimmy full access to me.

He smiled at me, a pleased, spoiled smile, knowing exactly what he did to me, what he was always capable of when it came to getting me to comply to his desperate, wanton needs of me.

“Good girl.” He whispered, gratified with my willingness in the moment.

As I neared the brink of release, suddenly, footsteps approached down the hallway.

Jimmy’s eyes widened as my eyes popped open, looking up at his mischievous, playful smirk.

He hurriedly released his hand, straightening up his back and helped me pull my dress back down hastily, that had almost moved up and around my waist at this point.

His movement was calculated just-so as my mother’s head appeared in the doorway.

“Everything alright in here?” She asked, smile serene, oblivious to the heated moment that had just ensued on her sofa.

“Just tidying the kitchen, will be out shortly. You two need anything? Water… Jimmy?” She pushed, a light jab, surely at his new intoxication from the whiskey.

“We’re fine, mom.” I grumbled hastily, voice reedy. My retort was perhaps a little too quick, too high-pitched.

A nervous, almost silent giggle escaped my lips, a sound I immediately regretted, as it surely displayed my edgy demeanor. I managed a strained, shaky smile at her, hoping it looked convincing, enough to make her walk away before inspecting us further.

Jimmy, the perfect picture of politeness, with his unassuming English charm, smiled up at my mom, gaze appearing innocent. But he certainly was not virtuous in the slightest, especially with his, still, damp hand from my wetness that he was wiping away on his jeans, smug smirk upon his face.

"It's been a delightful evening, Mrs. Carpenter. Truly." He winked at Cynthia, a barely perceptible flick of his eyelid, then turned his attention to the antique vase on that sat above the fireplace, humming some melody, like a little choirboy.

I wanted to scream, laugh maniacally, grab at Jimmy and shake him until his teeth rattled. He just drove me right to the edge of insanity, long fingers pleasuring me expertly, and now he’s acting as if we were a little schoolgirl and schoolboy couple, meeting my mom and dad for the first time to enjoy tea and scones.

Instead, I just sat there, flushed and breathless, almost panting with the hazy, heavy feeling that had imploded the air of the living room.

The scent of Jimmy still clung to me, to the air, his natural scent, along with his usual minty, whiskey taste still on my tongue.

I felt crazed as I watched my mom finally saunter her way back down the hall, unknowing of Jimmy’s perilous measures moments before.

When she was finally out of my line of sight, I turned to Jimmy with a admonishing look.

I swatted at his arm, half serious, half playfully, laughter bubbling up from somewhere within the knot that had formed in my stomach from my risky behavior.

“Jimmy… you… You’re awful! What if they walked in and had seen us?!” I whisper-shout, continuing my soft assault to his arm as he shakes his head at me.

He grabs at my wrist, bringing it down onto his lap, making sure I felt his hardness, his straining arousal in his jeans.

“Then they’ll just have to deal with the fact that I’m absolutely crazy about you,” he said, tone shifting from playful to sincere, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my heart flutter, made the tingly feeling jolt through my lower half once again. “And that when I’m around you, love, I can’t control myself.”

I blushed, my vibe caught between shyness and excitement.

Before I could reply, cheeks reddening once again, the wood floor creaked slightly as my parents’ voices filtered into the room, breaking the wanton spell that Jimmy had casted onto me when they had departed earlier.

My eyes slightly widened and I rubbed at them, hoping to rid the glazed-over lust that had painted itself across my pupils. I shoved my hair behind my ears, trying my best to appear casual, though my stomach was doing somersaults.

“Maybe we should just… tone it down a bit,” I whispered, cheeks still warm, hoping he’ll hold off his teasing, dirty behavior until we left.

“Hmm…” he whispered, eyes on my parents’s backs as they tidied the couch across the room. His hand ghosted my lower back as he spoke, rattling my insides once again.

“Or maybe,” he began with a smirk, “we should get comfortable with the idea of being caught.”

“I can tell you love it… don’t you, Cyn? Hm? That feeling of getting caught up?” He pushes, my parents still oblivious to his rousing words

My breath caught in my throat and goosebumps rose on my skin suddenly, my body unwavering to the strong feeling of desire that washed through me with urgency.

“Exactly,” he whispered, lips grazing my earlobe. "The thought of it. The risk. You fucking dig that, don’t you, Cyn? My dirty girl...” He pushed further, hand now rubbing circles into my back.

“The thrill of any eyes, just beyond us, waiting to catch a glimpse of something they shouldn't." His words made me gasp and I was thankful that my parents were in an argument at the moment over what album to put on next.

I shook my head, for a reason unknown to me, maybe to just urge him to pause him movements momentarily, even just until the damn limo ride back to the apartment. The windows are tinted…

He chuckled softly. “Don't tell me that doesn't get your blood up, darling. Christ, I can feel your heartbeat through your dress.” He softly proclaims, hand ghosting over my breasts.

A faint gasp escaped my lips as I smacked his wavering hand down. I tried to pull away, my parents still in the room nevertheless, backs turned to us, but his hand on my back was firm, possessive, and unyielding. There was no stopping him.

“No, Cyn… don't pretend," he purred, eyes boring into mine, surely seeing into me too much. “That flutter in your chest. The way your pupils dilated… your goosebitten thighs…” he kept pushing and pushing, and I was holding my breath, as it’d surely come out in moans if I explicated them.

“You're not as innocent as you want everyone to believe…” he continued, catching my gaze once again.

His hand crept lower, palming my bottom, hand sliding underneath me to cup it firmly.

My breath hitched at his touch. I stared at him, caught in his gaze, my eyes glancing over at my parents that were now trying their best to fix the record player that kept skipping.

A strange mix of fear and exhilaration swirling within me as I allowed his titillating behavior to continue its consumption of me.

A low moan escaped me, almost audible.

I tried to deny all of this, but the words just wouldn't form. He knew exactly what he did to me, what only he was capable of bringing out of me, and he clearly, ultimately, took great pride in that fact.

His hand continued its rubbing and kneading and I shifted uncomfortably as his words and touch sent a wave of heat through me.

“Ah, there you are, Cyn…” he breathed, triumphant smirk playing on his full, pink lips that I so badly wanted to kiss.

“I know there’s that dark secret you keep tucked away. That little part of you that craves this. You want to get caught, don't you?” He prods at me further, and I felt like the seconds went by in slow motion, our moment on the couch too much to handle.

“Even just a little bit. To be seen, exposed, someone other than me discovering just how naughty you are.” He finishes, and I gasp at this, making my parents whip around toward us, exasperated at their record-playing issue.

“Alright, honey? I’m sorry, can’t quite get this to work. I’ve been needing to get a new one, this ancient thing just doesn’t play like it used to.” My father shakes his head, unknowing of Jimmy and I’s actions that were sexually raging on their pristine couch.

I was suddenly aware of how wet my panties had become and hoped I wouldn’t leave a spot behind on the cushion. This certainly wasn’t ever an issue I’ve had to worry about before… God, what has he done to me?

“That’s quite alright, Dave. Perhaps, next time? I think Cyn and I have got to be off, getting late.” Jimmy offers, and I could see that he couldn’t wait much longer to have me alone, helpless, and back at his mercy.

I, too, was becoming impatient, dying to get out of this stuffy living room, and out of my wet panties… and back in bed with Jimmy.

“Yes, I’m awfully tired…” I start, Jimmy’s amused, knowing look at this sending shivers down my spine.

“We’ll see you both very soon.” I say, standing up, bringing Jimmy up with me, grabbing his hand that had been kneading and caressing me for, what felt like eternal, agonizing moments now.

Thank you’s, love you’s, see you soon’s were muttered, and we soon made our hasty exit toward the limo that boasted itself luxuriously on the curb.

The polished oak door of my parents’ home clicked shut with a soft finality, the sound feeling less like a sad ending and more like a beautiful release.

I didn't dare breathe until the quaint air of my parents' living room was but a memory now behind us.

The crisp night air, sharp with the scent of damp grass and distant traffic exhaust, was shockingly a welcome scent, much better than the stuffiness that invaded the living room.

Beside me, Jimmy, all lean, long limbs, all his swagger, slipped his large hand into my small one, guiding me down the path to the limo. His stride always very model-esque, one foot in front of the other. Simply magnificent.

I slide in the limo, scooting my body furthest to the edge of the leather bench seat, anxiously anticipating Jimmy’s dominating presence next to me.

Jimmy’s body, long legs and arms aid his climbing into the door. He nodded and patted up to Ron, prescribing instruction to him, certainly telling him to drive as fast as possible back to my apartment.

Soon, as I knew it would, the divider was up between us and Ron, and Jimmy’s dark, emerald orbs were gazing into mine with pure arousal and provocation.

He scoots his bottom all the way across the expanse of the seat, seemingly eager to resume our heated exchange.

I could smell the booze that still lingered on his lips, his warm breath fanning me as he turned toward me, not willing to waste any time.

“Well,” he murmured, the word much like a purr, “that was some experience.” His hand found my thigh, once again, a possessive warmth seeping from his fingers into my skin, the touch a pleasurable burn.

The scent of the leather and Jimmy filled the car. Outside, Manhattan’s streetlights streaked into the tinted windows, blurring the memory of my parents’ perfect, little suburban home. I couldn’t wait to get back to the confines of my apartment and have Jimmy all to myself. No more ‘prim and proper.’ Besides, that wasn’t Jimmy’s style anyhow.

I leaned back against the cool seat, a sigh escaping my lips. Beside me, Jimmy, all dark eyes and a sexy persona, watched me with an alluring, predatory gaze.

He reached over, fingers brushing the inside of my thigh, igniting a spark deep inside me.

“Finally rid of them,” he murmured to me, his voice now a low rumble, raspy with the night’s events.

“You have no idea what it took to be decent back there.” He says, thumb tracing circles into my skin, inching higher, back to my center.

“Hm?” I nonsensically utter, not quite knowing what to say to what to do. My hands awkwardly laid flat against the leather, waiting and ready for what Jimmy may want me to do with them.

My breath became shaky again, and he took this opportunity to continue his stimulating activity and statements.

“Remember when your father showed me all the photos? You at graduation? At church… looking so bloody innocent in that white dress.” He leaned closer to me, his voice dropping to a dark and dirty whisper.

“All I could think about was dragging you to the bathroom, rip this dress right off you, of which, has driven me out of my bloody mind by the way…” he trailed off, knowing that I was aware of what he was going to say next.

I wanted him to do everything he desired right here - right now, in fact. He’d teased me all night long, and I couldn’t take this anymore. I felt like I was coming out of my body, I had never felt this much heightened arousal in my life, and I was enjoying every moment of it.

I’d never, ever felt or had done any of these dirty things. They never even crossed my mind. Though I am becoming more experienced with this, I was still astonished at my willingness to do all of it. But now, with Jimmy, these things were being done at lightening speed, and I couldn’t stop any of it even if I tried.

“You should have seen yourself, pretending to be so prim, like the girl you used to be.” He continued, a husky rasp in his tone, making his accent sound even more pronounced and seductive.

“Christ, Cyn, every time you bent to pick up your napkin or serve the dessert, I imagined you on your knees, bent over, sucking me.” His fingers invaded my panties once again, thumb pressing into my most sensitive spot. He was certainly ravenous tonight.

“Jimmy!” I whimpered at the sudden contact, a pleasuring thrill shooting through me.

He chuckled at my reaction that seemed to vibrate through us. “Now, Cyn, the wait is almost over.” He pulled me closer, lips brushing mine before he pulled me into a wet, deep kiss.

~~~

“Oh my God… Jimmy!” I wailed as he entered me, my center warm and wet with my arousal and his saliva.

He hadn’t been able to wait until we made it to the bedroom, stopped me right at the door of my apartment as soon as I had closed it, shutting us away from the outer world.

He had crazily kissed down my body, pinning me to the door, body kneeling down to rip my panties to the side so he could have me as he pleased.

His tongue worked fast and skillfully, bringing me to release quickly as I tugged and grasped at his hair and shoulders.

Soon, he had me in his arms, leading me back to our favorite place, to have his way with me. And he did.

My fingers were tangled in Jimmy’s long, dark hair, the silk of the new bedsheets cool against my skin as I breathed him in.

Our rhythm was like one of Jimmy’s strumming melodies, and we moved with each other with undeniable passion.

I had become familiar with his touch, the pressure of his hips on mine, and the beautiful soft sighs and moans that he breathed into my neck as he took me.

There was no feeling that topped this… I was in absolute ecstasy as Jimmy made love to me, passionate, long strokes unwavering with each delectable second.

Tonight, however, felt different from our previous, newfound sexual encounters.

A deeper current, a new bond that had been unacknowledged so far, especially now that he’s such a known figure in my life to my closest family. This fresh feeling hummed beneath the surface of us, our relationship.

This bond was something that I was now so deep into, lost in it, and now I believe I would allow anything at this point. I almost didn’t know if this feeling was a good one, a feeling that left me feeling out of control, willing to do anything, as long as it was with Jimmy.

But I didn’t ever see myself wavering from this, especially not now.

Suddenly, Jimmy leaned in, small pants fanning against my neck, lips against my ear, soft accent filling the room with low, dirty murmurs.

He began to increase his speed against me, thrusts becoming increasingly intense. I gripped onto him and let out the sounds, the breaths, that I had been trying to hold in, save my reputation at the apartment complex that was surely already ruined by Jimmy and I’s blaring activities the last week.

His voice, sexy and menacing, met my eardrums and made me feel even more aroused, further exhilarated, if that was possible.

“You like that, don’t you, love?” His voice, usually a soft, sweet tone, was continuing its low, raspy expressions, raw vocal chords unable to hold back his moans and words.

“Oh, Jimmy… yes…” I moaned as he drove into me with force and my hands went up and into his hair once again, smoothing it away from his handsome face, now dripping with sweat.

“Good girl,” he murmured, hands sliding down my back, cupping my bottom, pulling me impossibly closer.

“Such a good, wet girl for me.” He uttered, and I moaned at his words, surely making him aware of just how much I loved the way he spoke to me, never holding back his desires.

A low moan, deep from his throat, rumbled out. He was watching me, his eyes dark, unblinking, a predatory gleam in them.

“You’re so tight… Christ,” he rasped, voice dropping to a low purr. “You feel so good - so fucking good, Cyn. Like you were made for me…” his words made my entire body tingle, shivers running down my spine as I came undone.

I clutched at him as I released and I felt his movements pause as he watched me cry out against him, hands uncontrollable on his body.

He kissed me, swallowing my moans and cries as he began moving again, surely on the brink of his release, too.

I could tell this was nearing an end by the way Jimmy’s groans had gotten louder, vibrating against my neck as he kissed and licked at me, picking up his pace once again.

He nipped and kneaded me, long, driving thrusts of his hips, sounds of our skin meeting filled the room. I kissed at his bared throat, running my hands through his curls as I held him to me, trying to soothe his overwhelming desire.

“Christ, Cyn, I - you - you are so amazing, so fucking amazing…” His words came out in loving stutters and I stared up at him, always enjoying the sight of him losing all control.

“Oh God - Cyn, love… I’m gonna… come…”

His mouth was open, eyes shut tight, and I could see the first wave of his orgasm wash through him as he pulled out of my hastily, pumping his release onto my lain body.

He threw his head back as he came, muttering expletives toward the sky. I let out one more moan, a sigh of pleasure just watching him… oh my God. He looked like a dark, fallen angel, features soft and perfect, black hair cascading down, meeting his shoulders.

Finally, once his breathing stopped his raggedness, and he regained his consciousness, gripping back onto reality, he smiled down at me, a delightful expression that made me weak all over.

“Fucking hell, love…” he let out, the breathy statement making me giggle like a schoolgirl. I had no idea why I laughed, but I excused it as just my helpless happiness that I was here… with him… and he’s mine…and I’m his.

This was all so surreal, and the idea of him leaving again seemed even worse this time around.

I completely pushed his departure out of my mind, not letting it ruin this perfect moment.

I felt Jimmy descend back down to the bed, wiping me thoroughly with a day-old towel that laid neatly by the bed.

A lazy smile played on his lips as he finally spoke, breaking the calming silence in the room.

“Mmm,” he rumbled. “You’re something, Cyn… you know that? Absolutely incredible.” He proclaimed, stroking my cheek.

I shifted, a content sigh escaping me as I peered up at him. The silk sheet, twisted around my body as I heaved it up and over me offered only little modesty.

“Yeah?” I murmured, now offering a playful challenge, suddenly needing to hear more. I could never get enough of him. My confidence was now at its highest, the lingering arousal fueling my inquiries.

“You’ve said that every time…” I utter, biting my lip, gauging his reaction. He chuckled, nodding down at me as he pulled me close.

“Because it’s always true,” he insisted to me, his fingers exploring the line of my spine.

“Do you know how perfect you are? Truly? The way you move with me.. the way you feel under me… Christ, Cyn. You drive me mad…” He breathed out, breath catching.

“I can’t believe you are mine. I swear to you… I never would’ve thought…” he trailed off, finding no use to finish his admission, almost seeming to regret he ever brought up his doubts of our relationship.

This struck me. He seemed to have some kind of an unbelieving notion, an insecurity of his fate with me. I just couldn’t understand why… I am the one who should be in disbelief.

Someone as magnificent as he, worked up and misunderstanding of me, little-old-prudish-me, and he’s the one not grasping my willingness to be with him? - His astonishment was a mystery.

It was then that I realized that he didn’t see what I see in him… really, what everyone sees in him. It was incredulous… I noticed the power he had since the day I met him. When he walked in a room, even backstage at Madison Square Garden, everyone turned their heads… everyone stood up to talk with him. He never fails to shock me… How could he not know how perfect he is?

His soft voice, his vulnerable words continue, breaking my train of thought.

“Can you believe this, love? Really?” he whispered, his voice rough with exhaustion and something of continual disbelief, his raw vulnerability that was unusual for him… especially with his usual confident, charming, even arrogant demeanor. I couldn’t wrap my head around his words. He seemed hellbent on trying to understand our fate - how the rockstar ends up with the puritan.

He pressed a kiss to my head, inhaling my scent, surely just smelling of his intoxicating scent… and sex.

I shake my head, dismissing his disbelief.

“What is there not to believe, Jimmy? You’re here…” My was thick and languid, and I was surely on my way to a deep slumber.

“Us,” he clarified, hand coming to rest gently on my hip, pulling one of my bare legs up and over him, caressing me gently. I love his touch.

“You… are mine. Can you fathom it?” His thumb brushed over the smooth of my leg. I I wondered if he felt the faint, steady pulse beneath his touch. He truly electrified me in ways I couldn’t describe. And in a couple of days, he’d be gone again. How could I possibly handle his departure this time? Now that we have become ultimately closer, in various ways.

His accent fluttered through my ears once again.

“It’s just… unbelievable.” He murmured, eyes scanning the room - then returning to my face, searching for an answer, a retort that I couldn’t quite form.

“This past week, I’ve had dreams… not the bad ones, but dreams of us… on the road… and sometimes I wake and think it’s all just a dream, a hallucination, you know?” He whispered to me. My eyes gazed into his as I listened to his unguarded revelations.

“But, then, I see you, feel you next to me. It’s all real again. And I feel much more is possible if we stick to this.” He tells me, biting his lip, his vulnerability overtaking him.

“Does it feel like that for you, Cyn? Would you want to come along with me one day?” He peers at me, his inquisition a hard one to answer.

I suppose this did feel very dreamlike, as Jimmy’s presence, his persona, was ultimately dreamy and beautiful. I felt like I was on cloud nine every time he enveloped me in his arms. But, at times, especially this past week, my fear of the unknown, of him, of his past, his weaknesses and addictions… brought me back to reality once again and I was terrified of what this ‘unknown’ may hold for him, for me, for us.

“Jimmy, I… yes, at times I feel entranced, like I’m in a dream… that is how you make me feel. You are magnificent…” I tell him, the words coming out in uncontrollable droves.

“But, you are my dream. And it feels very real, Jimmy. Especially when you hog all the blankets at night and I have to wrestle for them back.” I tell him, playfulling smacking his chest, ripping on the blanket that was trapped under his body to further prove my point.

I hoped to lighten the mood a bit, and as I looked up at him, it seemed to have worked, and a small grin formed on his face.

“And, of course… I’d go anywhere with you, Jimmy. But I fear you may get sick of me.” I laugh, shyly clinging to him.

“Never.” He nuzzled my neck, his hair and lips tickling my skin as he expressed more of his sweet affirmations into my ear.

“Oh, Cyn,” he breathed, a low moan of contentment, the sound chasing away the lingering tension that had formed, replacing with serene fulfillment.

“You’re real. Thank God for it.” His accent had upped its tone a bit, seemingly lighter and cheery. I love his voice.

“With everything else, the fucking madness, all the demands, the constant pull…” He trailed off, the weight of his fame, of the band, the relentless demands, the constant scrutiny, was evidently a heavy burden on his shoulders, a constant reminder of how much was depending on him.

I pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone, to his chest where his light chest hair decorated it, tightening my arm around his waist. “Shhh…” I soothed, softly rubbing my hands against his arms and chest as he nestled into my embrace.

“Dont worry about any of that. It’s just us, for now.” I tell him, desperately wanting to soothe and free his mind of the relentless, stressful thoughts that clouded it.

He sighed, a content sigh, smoothing my hair back, placing a kiss atop my head fondly.

“Just us,” he echoed, seemingly repeating it to reassure himself of it. He pulled and held me even tighter, as if to absorb me into himself, and I wished, suddenly, that I could make this moment last forever.

But I knew that these sweet, tranquil, quiet moments of ours, unfortunately, would not last. It was inevitable that the madness of it all would surely come down onto us… and crumble. I could see it, now. Even during the last days of the tour, those had been such crucial, difficult days to balance and handle, especially with Jimmy’s constant intoxication and irritability. I hoped that if I was around, if he kept me around, I could simmer him down, tone the chaos down to a minimum, and make him feel whole again. And - hopefully keep him away from the negative side of it all.

The distant hum of the city below, the roaring cars that still travelled along the roads, faded into the darkness, soothing me to sleep as I listened to the steady beating of Jimmy’s heart.

And so, I wanted to hold on to all of our peaceful moments we have shared thus far in our days, and prayed that there were many more to come… but I couldn’t ever be too sure.

-

A/N

Late post, but nevertheless, it’s here.

PART TWO, and again… twas a lengthy one.

I hoped you all enjoyed this, as Jimmy and Cyn are becoming closer and closer by the day… or should I say, chapter? :p

Please share your thoughts with me, do not hold back your comments, I LOVE THEM!

I appreciate all of you, thank you for taking the time to read my crazy little story!